


Petrichor

by Twigo



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Love Letters, M/M, Romance, Spanish Civil War, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 32,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24910318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twigo/pseuds/Twigo
Summary: AU. Antonio had made it so long fighting in the Spanish Civil War without incurring injury. It was only natural that his luck would run out. Getting airlifted to Germany for treatment was rather normal. What was not normal was falling for his very strict, very stern, very handsome nurse. War is the worst time to fall in love, and he knew that. Just couldn't help it. SpaGer
Relationships: Germany/Spain (Hetalia)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	1. PART ONE

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings! : AU. Human characters. Spain x Germany. Language, mentions of character death. Set during the Spanish Civil War and WWII. This is only two chapters, the second of which will be told almost entirely through letters. It is never clarified in story, but feel free to interpret the light background romance (as I do) as some Romano x Fem!Austria. (also, bruh, this isn't the proper medium to discuss the morality of Republicans vs. Nationalists, nor is it meant to be. People are people after all)

**PETRICHOR**

* * *

**PART ONE**

The years leading up to the coup had been very complicated and at times very confusing, and Antonio couldn't exactly claim that he comprehended every nuance and detail. Who ever could? Too much for one mind.

Just knew that civil war broke out, and he signed himself up to the side he believed in. The uprising started on July 17th , and come July 20th Antonio was fighting as a Nationalist. Had never supported the Republican government, but hadn't exactly ever wanted to see a civil war. Wasn't eager to fight like some of the men, didn't consider himself some virtuous hero. He only did what he thought was right, and for himself, that meant overthrowing the Republicans and rejecting the looming threat of communism.

One of his biggest fears.

It was interesting to Antonio to see the reactions of the world. Was damn glad to see Germany and Italy sending in troops and supplies to his side, and more terrified of the Soviet Union aiding the Republicans on the other.

It hadn't gone so well for them at first. Antonio watched man after man fall, and had narrowly escaped elimination on several defeats. The siege of Madrid had failed, but Antonio had considered himself rather fortunate. Hadn't gotten hit yet, and was quite lucky to avoid damage in any way.

He hung over the radio at night with the other men, and listened to the news.

He had never really envisioned himself being a soldier in a war. Had never been that sort, really. Had come from a well-off family, with lands, had a decent upbringing, Catholic, and had never been that serious in any aspect of his life. Was laid-back, perhaps a bit unmotivated. Considered himself cheerful and optimistic. Just a nice guy, who liked to drink and flirt. A normal man.

Here he was now, rifle in hand in a crumbling country.

The tide of the war quickly changed in their favor. Germany and Italy were unrivaled, and the Soviet Union and Mexico couldn't float the Republicans against such strength without getting dragged into war themselves. The fear of getting dragged into a global war, of course, is what saved Antonio's side in the end, as Britain and France and America were far too leery of sending in troops.

Antonio found himself at times standing next to the German Condor Legion, and other times the Italian CTV. Enthralling! He had taught himself to be a soldier, and to stand next to real soldiers was a thrill, however many times it happened.

But, damn...

Hated it.

Hated fighting, hated killing. Hated standing before his countrymen and gunning them down before they could gun him down. Hated seeing those grand old buildings being bombed. Hated passing a gutted church and seeing people on their knees outside, crying. Hated marching through burning fields and towns.

Misery.

The only moments he looked forward to these days were when it rained. Could sit in the bombed church, rifle between his knees, and stare out at the horizon as the rain fell. The sound of the water hitting the roof, the dripping as it pooled down. The scent of the earth as it became soaked.

The only comfort he had to look forward to.

Watching the rain and falling into a trance, the sight and sound and smell of it the only things that could ever take his mind from the chaos around him. The only way to forget how many men he had killed. Corralling enemy soldiers and gunning them down even in defeat. Hearing tales of captured Nationalists being tied up and thrown over bridges into canyons. Men on both ends slaughtering haphazardly.

Watching the rain...

Didn't feel that pain as much.

Even when he was caught in the rain outside, exposed and cold and so tired, it was still enough to look up at the grey sky and find a sense of calm.

Strange, really, because he had hated the rain before the war. Had lived in sunlight, but sunlight now made everything too bright, too clear. Could see things far too easily. The rain was better, obscuring both the horizon and his thoughts.

1936 turned to '37, and from there '38.

So long fighting now, so long without rest. He was exhausted, and so was everyone else. Had never imagined the fighting would go on this long. Had never seen it coming. Never in his worst nightmares had he foreseen this civil war enduring so long and persistently.

In July of '38, Antonio found himself on the banks of the Ebro. Was there for a month, and it was the worst battle he had yet encountered. Men dying everywhere. The Republicans fought relentlessly, fiercely, and one of the men beside of Antonio muttered, as they manned the antiaircraft gun, ''Course they're fightin' tooth and nail! They get executed if they retreat.'

The worst kind of enemy to fight; one that faced death on either side and therefore had nothing to lose.

The Nationalists wanted to advance to Barcelona, because the route was clear, but Franco said to take the Ebro, so that was what they did.

August came, and so did the Condor Legion. With the air force, the bomb strength, they crossed the river at last.

Antonio's luck at long last ran out on the other end of that river, in the first week of September. They had gone into the mountains above, held yet by the Republicans. Had been as fierce and brutal in those mountains as it had been down by the river, but they had been making headway.

Antonio couldn't really say what had happened, exactly. The memory was very disjointed and fuzzy. Just remembered shouts of warning, screaming, an odd whirring. Remembered looking to the right and seeing a tank through the trees, far down below on a ridge.

Remembered more clearly than he wanted to, staring down the huge barrel of that tank gun.

Scariest moment of his life.

That was the last thing he could recall, until he had come to in some dim place, in horrible pain and unable to focus.

Remembered someone grabbing his hand. A low whisper.

"Don't move. We're getting you out of here. The Germans are flying you out. Keep fighting, huh? Don't give up."

Darkness.

And what a darkness, so long and oddly frightening. Unable to sense time or space. Just floating about, really, and occasionally there were dots of light. A flash of paleness.

Sometimes, he heard a voice.

Odd dreams and odder notions. Not awake, but not asleep. Lost in some misty plane, hovering between consciousness and obscurity. Horrible pain at times and other times total numbness.

It was a strange, vulnerable stretch in time, that feverish state. Coming in and out of consciousness and lucidity. Never knowing exactly if he was dreaming or not. Not sure if what was happening around him was real.

Frequently, however, in the midst of those delusions and those strange thoughts, Antonio glimpsed a flash of blond. Pale eyes, close to his own. A deep voice, murmuring against the whooshing and the lull. Didn't know if it was just something he dreamt up or not, but that voice was remarkably comforting all the same.

Couldn't say how long it had been, how much time had passed.

All memories leading up to then had long since faded. Didn't know where he was or how he had gotten there at all. Just the occasional sound of gunfire and explosions, far off in the distance of his mind. Smoke. Sometimes, he thought he could smell blood, saturated and metallic.

The only times he ever felt truly safe during that endless drifting was when he heard that voice.

After who knew how long, possibly six lifetimes for how he felt, the darkness steadily faded. Grey all around. More dots of light. The surreal sensation of floating above himself dulled into something clearer and yet harder to hold on to. Fighting against delirium.

The voice became less garbled. Not so distant.

And then one day, Antonio rose up from a dream, and came to.

Couldn't open his eyes at first, so exhausted and yet confused. Lied there inert and helpless as an awful pang of agony began throbbing all over. Colored lights behind his eyelids. He tried to move, and stopped immediately short at the awful pain that lit him up when he did so.

A familiar voice, very nearby.

This time, he was alert enough to actually understand it.

"Don't move too much."

Accented, clearly a foreigner, but very neat and correct and comprehensible.

Couldn't really put his thoughts together and figure out what was going on, and it was a long while before he finally cracked opened his eyes. Sunlight, far too bright and painful, and he squinted and raised his palm up to shield his eyes.

That horrible pain. Horrendous. Had never felt anything like it.

Sought out that voice then, because it was familiar and soothing and he wanted something, anything, to take his mind off of that agony.

Took a long struggle to find the source. When he did at last, though—damn!

What a sight. Like looking up to the dome of a church.

A man, hovering over him.

He wasn't going to claim that what he was seeing then was real. Could have been a figment of his imagination. Could have been something he dreamt up, so easily, and if it was then let him keep on dreaming, thanks, because he may have dreamt up the perfect man.

Or he was drugged out of his mind and didn't even know what the hell he was thinking, let alone seeing.

Either way worked for him.

Palest man he'd ever seen, with the palest hair and the palest eyes. Leaning over him, hair lit up white in the bright lights from above. Sharp cheeks and broad shoulders. A straight nose with a narrow bridge, a bit upturned at the tip.

Antonio was actually very certain then that he was dying and one of the angels had come down to collect his sorry ass, 'cause they knew he'd get lost otherwise. Sure was ghostly pale enough to be an angel or a phantom or whatever.

He opened his mouth, and tried to speak. Failed miserably at that, and the angel merely said, in a deeper tone, "Be still. I'm going to give you something for the pain."

Oh, yeah—how was he still in so much pain if he was dead? What a misrepresentation of heaven! Had been sold a lotta nonsense, perhaps, because this didn't feel at _all_ heavenly, despite the view.

A prick in his arm.

He fell unconscious shortly after, mercifully.

More time passed in a painful daze.

The next time Antonio came to, it was at night. No sunlight; just the dim glow of lamps. Tried to look around, moving a bit as he attempted to gather his bearings, breathing through his mouth and eyes squinted in pain as he struggled for clarity.

Wasn't exactly sure what was going on.

A step beside of him, as someone came inside the room.

"Be still. Are you in pain?"

That voice.

Maybe the first collection had gone awry, and the angel was coming back to try again. Had always been a trouble-maker, Antonio, but that probably wasn't a good idea this time unless he wanted to just be left here in limbo in exasperation.

Unable to speak, Antonio just nodded, because he was in excruciating pain, and even nodding hurt like hell so he cut it short, already dripping sweat despite the chilly air, panting as he was.

"I'll be back. Sit still."

Long minutes, eternity, and then that voice was back, right next to him. He struggled to open his eyes long enough to catch another glimpse of that man, and barely managed. Harder to see him in low light, with Antonio's vision compromised as it was, but he was still eye-catching.

Slightly more lucid than the previous occasion, Antonio could see this time that the angel was wearing a uniform. Not an angel at all; just a nurse. Astounding. Explained a lot, though. Maybe he wasn't a goner after all.

A nurse, perhaps, but still a criminally gorgeous one. Why was it always nurses? Had seen so many pretty nurses in his day, both men and women—seemed like a good half of them belonged in pictures.

This man had missed his calling, certainly, with that face.

One of the more handsome men Antonio had ever seen, and Antonio had spent the good majority of every day watching pretty people walking down the street. That hair. Had never seen such pale hair. It was funny that Antonio was half-dead and yet it was this nurse who was pale as a ghost.

And so serious, that nurse, face very focused and strict as he flicked a syringe and lowered it down.

"This will help a bit. Don't worry. It will get better soon."

Antonio tried to speak, and failed once more.

The drug, whatever it was, was quick. Pain receded, and darkness crept up. Didn't remember anything after that, until he woke up again what could have been days later.

Each time he awoke, his senses were stronger, and on the third occasion that he came to, he was finally able to look around a bit and gather up some tangible thoughts.

The room wasn't empty; beside of him there was another bed, holding another man. A curtain between them, but the sun was on that side and Antonio could see the shadow on the other end.

No one else.

He closed his eyes and tried to recall the moments leading up to this point in time, and only drew blanks.

A while later, the door opened.

Antonio turned his head, and saw that pale nurse, very suddenly his favorite sight. Not that there was anything else to look at, but the point stood. Swore he was more handsome every time Antonio looked, but that was likely from being more aware each time.

In addition to being very handsome, tall, he was very neat, very well put-together. His uniform was quite pristine, despite how much work he had to have had. Hair combed perfectly back, not one strand out of place. Clean shaved, sideburns neatly trimmed. Likely even smoothed down his eyebrows.

Worn out shoes, though. Could see the soles lifting up as he walked inside, pushing his cart along.

When the nurse saw Antonio was awake, he came over to him, pulled the blanket down, and began his inspection, wringing his hands together as he sanitized them.

Antonio didn't look down, mesmerized as he was by that man.

That face was handsome, alright, but was also very blank. Stoic. Rather stern, those eyes, and certainly he had a very no-nonsense air about him. Strict and cold. Distant. Another common trait amongst nurses. Supposed being detached was really the only way for them to work efficiently. Couldn't be overly emotional in that sort of field.

Certainly, there was no emotion at all upon that lovely face.

Just focused immediately on his work, and Antonio finally screwed his head on long enough to actually find his voice for the first time.

Hurt, as much as everything else.

Antonio spoke up at last, and asked, dumbly and very gruffly, voice rough from disuse, "Where am I?"

A glance down, a lifted brow of what could have been either surprise or exasperation. Couldn't tell.

"In the hospital," was the rather prim and precise reply. "In Nürnberg. You were flown in."

Ah, yeah...

Vaguely recalled being airborne. Getting shipped to Germany. Damn—was he that bad off? Was afraid suddenly to come back to clarity. Wasn't sure if he wanted to see what damage had been done. That awful rise of panic, fear.

The nurse finished sanitizing his hands, and bent over.

To delay the inevitable, to calm himself, Antonio tried to keep his mind on the man hovering over him.

"You my nurse?"

"One of them."

"I heard your voice a lot. Thought I was dreaming."

An airy snort, and a lifted brow.

"You were unconscious for a long time. You had an infection. You passed most of it in fever. I was worried for a while there, but you pulled through."

Infection?

He'd been wounded, he knew. Just couldn't recall how.

"What day is it?"

Very calmly, the nurse answered, "It's December 15th."

December?

Antonio jerked upright a bit at that, instantly regretted it, and fell back down, dizzy and nauseous and wracked with pain.

Bad idea.

December. Last he remembered it was August, maybe September. Damn. Had he been out so long?

Apparently so, for the nurse, knowing what he was thinking, added, "You've been out of it for two months. It wasn't easy. You're lucky to be alive."

Alive, yeah, but was he in one piece?

Antonio found himself flexing his fingers. Could feel them, thank god, and they moved easily. He flexed his toes. They moved, but he was very quick to realize he couldn't feel them so well, and the left toes didn't want to move as easily as the others.

He finally glanced down, and saw the bandages covering both of his legs, from heel to thigh.

Shit.

May have sounded dumb, but Antonio glanced up at the nurse all the same and asked, "Am I gonna die?"

A far more serious look, and a lower voice.

Reassuring.

"No. You're not going to die, or you would have done so already. You're going to be fine. We think you'll be able to walk just fine, more or less, once the wounds heal. The doctors saved your leg, after a struggle. You were _very_ lucky."

Was he ever grateful for that, more than he could have ever hoped to say. Wasn't sure he was emotionally capable of waking up missing something.

The nurse took up Antonio's right leg, and began undoing the bandages. Antonio looked quickly away when he saw them soaked through with blood. Didn't even wanna know, really didn't. Just tried to keep his eyes on that nurse and not focus on the pain.

"Am I gonna— I mean, you say you _think_ I'll be able to walk?"

Not even a glance, as the nurse worked diligently.

"Indeed. The right is very bad. The left is far worse. You'll need physical therapy when you're well enough. The muscles are all shredded. But, you should walk. Likely, you'll have a bit of a limp on the left side, but it shouldn't be so hindering. However, you certainly won't ever be running again."

Feeling rather queasy and yet trying to play it off, perhaps to impress this very stony nurse, Antonio gave a weak laugh, and said, "Damn! There goes my chance of getting a gold in the next Olympics."

The nurse looked over, brow high, but didn't laugh or appear very amused.

Just blank.

Antonio changed the topic.

"What happened?"

Should have been him that knew what the hell had happened to himself, but just couldn't drag up any memories.

The nurse's pale eyes flitted to Antonio's, briefly, and then back down.

Such a pretty blue. Same shade as the sky on a clear day.

"I can't say for certain. Shrapnel from an explosion, but whether it was from a shelling or a landmine I don't know. The report is uncertain. You don't remember anything?"

A long search, a blank, and Antonio shook his head.

"No. Just remember being on the riverbank. And then it was just you."

No discernible emotion upon that stoic face, and eventually the nurse merely said, "I suppose that's for the best. Better not to remember that at all."

There was no speaking after that. The nurse worked quietly and meticulously, as Antonio tried to absorb all of this information without shutting down.

An hour or so later, when both legs were in fresh bandages, the nurse stood up, met Antonio's eyes once more, and said, sternly, "Go back to sleep. You need to rest."

With that, the nurse turned and walked out.

Antonio rested back, stared up at the ceiling, and tried to indeed go back to sleep to avoid being in pain any longer than necessary.

December. Was still boggled by that.

Sleep was harder and harder to find, however, each time he sought it.

Every day, he was more and more conscious.

The pain, while constant and sharp, had become slightly more tolerable each time.

At some point in those days, the memory returned, of that tank in the mountain ridge. Remembered what had done him in. Had they taken the mountains? Wondered where his comrades were then. If they had already taken Barcelona.

Antonio found himself waiting for the nurse to come back. Hated being like this, stuck in bed and so helpless. Useless. Wanted to talk to someone. Couldn't say why he was always so disappointed when the nurse he got wasn't _his_. None of the others spoke Spanish, although they seemed just a tad bit friendlier on the surface. His roommate was a Spaniard, but frequently out of the room.

The routine was very consistent : a nurse would come in, change his bandages. Hours later, they would help him into a wheelchair and take him to the showers, where he would sit on a wooden bench, legs straight out in front of him, and wash himself with a cloth from a basin, to avoid wetting his bandages. Afterwards, he would shave, and was taken back into his room. The meal cart came three times a day, and the food was actually remarkably good, all things considered, but likely only because this hospital seemed so small.

Antonio was always on the lookout for his nurse, but hadn't seen him for those few days. The other nurses tried to speak to him, gesturing and pointing, and even though they were nice Antonio was let down whenever they came in.

Would rather just have his nurse, stern or no.

That voice had been constant in fever, and Antonio had attached himself to it.

'His' nurse. That was what Antonio referred to him as, and, after three days of not seeing him, Antonio finally asked one of the other nurses about him.

A dark-haired woman with glasses was checking his temperature one morning, and Antonio asked, "Where's the other nurse? The blond?"

She didn't understand him, though, and tried to soothe him as best she could, not knowing what he wanted. So he pointed at her uniform, raised his hand above his own head, trying to indicate height, saying, more to himself, "The tall blond guy. Know who I'm talking about?"

She was clueless, but thankfully the man in the other bed spoke enough German to explain to her what Antonio was asking.

She smiled, speaking away to him as he sat there as clueless as she had been, and then she walked away.

Antonio turned to look at his countryman, who said, carelessly, "She's getting him. What? You don't like the way the ladies wrap your wounds? At least you can feel whatever they wrap. That guy always ties it way too tight."

Antonio scoffed, and replied, "Best way to keep from losing something, don't you think?"

"Eh. Doesn't always work. Well; at least he speaks enough Spanish. He's the only one that does. That girl speaks some Italian, though. Gotta give 'em credit. These Germans sure are efficient. Know what they're doing. Best hospital I've ever seen, for it being so small. You'd'a lost those damn legs if you'd stayed in Spain. Or died. There's a huge garden outside. When you can walk, go check it out. It'll be good for you, to get out in the fresh air. They've got a gymnasium. There's a tennis court, too. Can't do anything now, with the snow and all, but it's nice to be outside. I love the snow. When's the last time you even saw snow?"

"Can't recall."

They chatted for a bit, and then the door opened and 'his' nurse came in.

A rather droll look, and a droller voice asked, "You _called_?"

Antonio couldn't help but smile, lighting up a bit, and was quick to sit upright.

"Yeah, I did! I realized that I don't know your name."

"All that!"

The nurse came forward, his cart behind him, and Antonio didn't miss the rather condescending expression on his face as he came forward and sanitized his hands. Gone in a flash, as always, those glimpses of emotions.

It wasn't until the nurse pulled down the blanket and took Antonio's leg up that he finally offered, "My name is Ludwig."

"Ludwig! I'm Antonio."

"I know."

"Right."

Striking up a conversation with Ludwig wasn't a very easy task at all, as focused as he was on his work. Took him a very long time to answer a question, until there was a proper break in his tending, and even then he just answered very curtly, very precisely, and offered nothing else to the dialogue.

Certainly detached and guarded and a bit frosty, as most Germans were, but kind enough. Wasn't mean or anything like that. A 'tough-love' sort of man. Exceedingly patient as well, for he never seemed to get annoyed by Antonio's constant chattering for that long hour that Ludwig changed his bandages.

Antonio said, at one point, "I remember now."

Ludwig glanced up.

"It was a tank. We were trying to take the Ebro. Stuck on the river forever, until the Condors came. We crossed and started going into the mountains. I remember lookin' over and seeing a tank, way down. Damn! I'll tell you, I've looked down every kind of gun you can imagine. But I've never been as scared as I was when I saw that tank gun pointing at me. You were right; I wish I didn't remember at all."

Ludwig's expression was very strange then, a crinkle in his brow and a pursing of his lips, but he eventually turned his eyes back down and didn't say a word.

Didn't matter really if Ludwig spoke much to him. Just him being there was enough. Seeing him, speaking to him, it took Antonio's mind off of everything else, and the pain was hardly noticeable when Ludwig showed his face.

Just found him so instantly fascinating. The thrill of being in a foreign country, perhaps, with people who didn't look much like him. And of course, personality-wise Ludwig was quite his polar opposite. Opposites attracted after all, or so they said. Antonio actually had a habit of finding himself attracted to just about anything as long as it was pretty, so maybe that had more to do with it than Ludwig's stoicism did.

Ludwig. Curious.

The next day, the same woman from before came in, and Antonio asked, "Ludwig?"

She snorted and smiled, and once more left to retrieve Antonio's nurse.

That time, when Ludwig came in, his look was more that of confusion than haughtiness. As if Ludwig had no idea why he was being summoned again.

"What is it this time?" he asked, as he stood over Antonio with hand on hip, cart beside of him.

In a tease, Antonio said, "I didn't catch your last name."

Ludwig saw the smirk on Antonio's face, knew he was being had, and merely sighed a bit as he dutifully set to work, shaking his head as he carefully pulled up Antonio's leg.

As he tried yet again to make conversation with aloof Ludwig, Antonio threw out, "Why do they keep sending in the others? I thought _you_ were my nurse?"

A flitting glance, a roll of a shoulder, and Ludwig rumbled, ever so patiently, "And what, I wonder, shall we do on my days off? Will you just change your own bandages? Will you call me in, especially for you?"

"That's a great idea," Antonio surmised.

Ludwig grimaced a bit, but quickly pushed it away.

When Ludwig left that day, Antonio's roommate said, with a laugh, "You're gonna make that kid wish he had never learned Spanish at all."

Antonio snorted.

The next day, same routine.

A different nurse this time, a dirty-blonde woman, and Antonio was very quick to ask her for Ludwig. She must have been in the know, because her smile was rather more of a smirk.

That time, Ludwig looked somewhat dazed, as if it were he who had fallen into some fever dream. Yet Antonio was humored, nonetheless. Had to be the most patient man alive, Ludwig, because he never faltered.

After the third day of Antonio asking for Ludwig, it seemed to become an agreement amongst the nurses that Ludwig should just be the one to always tend Antonio, to save them the trip of fetching him.

The Germans were extremely strict and stern, but they were also quite accommodating when it was so easy to do so. Ludwig, for his part, seemed rather bewildered but accepting.

Just came in on the fourth day, and said to Antonio, "It would appear you're solely my patient now. I wonder how that came about."

"No idea," Antonio cheerfully crooned, as Ludwig sent him an exasperated look.

As Ludwig began the familiar task of changing Antonio's bandages, Antonio thought to ask, "So how'd you learn to speak Spanish?"

"I started studying as soon as the war broke out. We were informed early on that it was likely we'd be tending Spanish Nationalists, among others. I thought it would be easier to do my job if I could speak to them. The soldiers over the years have been happy to teach me. Much easier to learn from them than a book. We sort of worked together. I speak Spanish, one nurse speaks Italian, one Catalan, and another Portuguese. We tried to be prepared. I'm the most successful of the bunch, because we've gotten mainly Spanish speakers. Haven't gotten a single case of Catalan yet. She's devastated, I'm sure."

"You speak very well," Antonio offered, and meant it. Very impressive, Ludwig's Spanish, even if he couldn't trill.

"Thank you. Perhaps you should try to learn some German while you're here."

Unlikely.

But all the same, Antonio said, "If _you_ teach me, I'll think about it."

Ludwig glanced up, pale eyes very sharp and prying, but he had no comment for that and merely looked back down.

For such a rather small hospital, it was interesting that the nurses had even bothered studying. Must have been quite bored, prior to the influx of patients. That, or the Germans were really just that eerily efficient.

Days kept on passing, and Antonio noticed that the bandages were less and less coated with blood each time. Still refused to look down at the wounds, though. Just didn't want to know yet. Had been desensitized to that kinda stuff, yeah, but it was a little different when it was you yourself all mangled.

Antonio's roommate left shortly after that, healed up and well enough to be sent back home. Antonio waited patiently for his new companion, but it never came.

Seemed he was alone for now.

Would have had more of a problem with that, if he wasn't happier to have his nurse in there alone with him at last. Didn't have to be so formal and careful. Even if the hours in between dragged miserably with no one to talk to.

Ludwig was at Antonio's mercy now, with no witnesses to hold Antonio back.

Which was great, because Antonio wasn't entirely certain what his objective even was those days. Had set his eyes on his nurse, absolutely, but hadn't yet foreseen any endgame. He loved flirting, he loved charming, he loved seducing people. One of his favorite pastimes. Nothing malicious, certainly, very rarely ever took it further than a kiss here and there. Didn't do it for pleasure rather than to boost his own ego and vanity.

Had never been a mystery to himself that he was as interested in handsome men as he was in pretty women. Liked both of them in equal proportions, but one was far easier to charm than the other, considering one half of his preferences had to be strictly in the shadows.

That had been a source of much turmoil in his teens, and he had spent a good two years crying at night and praying endlessly, sitting in the confessional and trying to explain to the priest in indirect words that there was something wrong with him. When he had turned seventeen, however, he had utterly exhausted himself with that worry, was so sick of it, and one day in a café another young man had kept on glancing at him. From there, Antonio realized he wasn't the only one, and had done the appropriate mental gymnastics needed to convince himself that there wasn't anything wrong with him at all, despite having to remain very careful and secretive.

It was all a game, in the end. Losing just had deadly consequences, but Antonio was far too confident in his abilities. He was thirty-three, so he could say he'd been doing a pretty good job so far at not losing.

He wasn't in a safe place, exactly, and it was so much more challenging to determine whether or not it was appropriate to flirt with a man. Challenging, absolutely, but far more rewarding for it. Gave him much more of a boost, charming a man, because it was so dangerous and thrilling.

Now that he was alone...

Time to test this nurse, and see how far he could get. Why not? Had nothing better to do, lying there in bed all day.

Hated passing up a handsome face. Flirting was the best pastime.

If he was lucky enough, just enough, if he played his cards right, he might earn himself a bit of hands-on action in some private personnel room before they shipped him back home.

The very first day Antonio found himself alone with Ludwig in that room, two days before Christmas, he became far more personable with Ludwig. Sat up straight when Ludwig set to work, despite the angle hindering Ludwig a bit, and leaned down as close as he could to him as he made conversation.

Ludwig's brow was low, his lips pursed, glancing up at Antonio far more frequently than he often did, and it was very clear that he was actually rather nervous.

Didn't pull away, however, no matter how close Antonio came to butting heads with him, and that spurred him on quite a bit.

Perhaps in an effort to distract Antonio from actually slamming their foreheads together in his exuberance, Ludwig very randomly said, "The Nationalists began their assault on Barcelona today."

And it worked.

Flirting was momentarily forgotten, adrenaline rushed, and Antonio was practically bristling when he nearly cried, "About time! We shoulda taken her a long time ago. We got hung up on the Ebro. Damn! Wish I was there."

Ludwig's look then was very strange, a bit thoughtful. Couldn't say for certain whether it was melancholy or not, because Ludwig was just so hard to read.

Whatever Ludwig was thinking, he kept it to himself, and instead turned his eyes back down.

He moved shortly after to Antonio's other leg, and Antonio asked, curiously, "So, you keep up with the war? Are you interested in the outcomes, or just waiting to see if you'll get more patients?"

"Both," Ludwig offered, and left it at that.

For a few minutes, anyway, and then Ludwig finally spoke up, and at last offered something to their conversations without being pressed.

A rather interesting piece of information, for that matter.

"My brother is in the Condor Legion," Ludwig rumbled, voice low and scarcely audible as he began unwrapping the other leg. "I have to keep up with the news, since I couldn't join him. I do what I can from here. The day he volunteered, I tried to enlist in the army. He wouldn't let me. He's older than me, so of course I have to listen to him. This is as close as I can get. For now."

Pfft—how old was this kid? Still listening to his big brother. Had to be at least twenty-two, maybe a few years older. Certainly didn't need permission to do what he wanted.

Antonio scoffed, and said, ever fascinated by Ludwig's pretty eyes, "Oh, yeah? I loved it when we got to fight with the Condors. They're not scared of anything. Can't tell you how many times they saved our asses."

Ludwig glanced up, brow high, and appeared almost expectant.

Silence.

A strange half-smile, a scoff, and Ludwig looked back down.

"What?"

Ludwig shook his head, and offered, "Every Nationalist I've ever met has always asked my brother's name. They always think they might have fought with him. You're the first one who hasn't. I begin to question your sincerity. Perhaps you never fought with them at all..."

Antonio was the one to snort then, and saw Ludwig's tease. The first thing he had ever gotten from Ludwig that wasn't seriousness and calm.

Wow! Was that a personality?

The war was pushed back under, and wooing came once more to the front. Quickly.

Didn't waste this chance, and Antonio very smoothly said, "I don't need to. I already know I never fought with him."

Ludwig glanced up again, pale eyes pinning his own in a second, and he drawled, "Oh? Do tell."

Walked right into it.

"I would remember him. I could never see someone that looks like you and not remember that face. One of a kind."

Ludwig's lips parted as if to speak, quickly closed, and there was no smart comment when Ludwig very quickly averted his eyes and set back to work. Antonio could swear, though, that Ludwig's pale cheeks had tinted pink.

Still had it! Good to know being blown to hell hadn't knocked out his charm.

One step at a time. Testing the waters carefully and cautiously.

So far, though, it was looking hopeful. Ludwig was an actual rock, but a very cooperative one. Hadn't pulled away, hadn't distanced himself, was very accommodating and very placid, let Antonio go far past normal bounds and didn't scold him or send him looks of distaste.

Felt he was on the right track with this one.

Ludwig didn't speak at all after that, looking quite mortified in a way, embarrassed, and Antonio realized then that Ludwig was very shy when things became personal.

Liked that.

A good motivator. If he couldn't get a kiss, making such a strict man squirm and blush would be a very worthwhile prize instead.

Christmas came.

Ludwig came into his room, helped Antonio out of the bed and into a wheelchair, and began taking him down the hall.

That was the first time Antonio got to see the common room, of sorts, where the men gathered with each other when they were well enough to leave their rooms.

A Christmas tree in the corner, lit up and bright. Chatter. Laughter. Soldiers of different nationalities, attempting to converse with each other and having drinks. An odd mixture of Italian and Spanish and German melding together into a pleasant hum.

Quaint.

The first time he had ever been out of his country for Christmas.

It felt great to be back out amongst people, cooped up in that room as long as he had been, but Antonio spent most of the time attempting to snag Ludwig's attention and succeeding only half of the time. Was proving a bit harder than he had anticipated, charming Ludwig.

Wasn't exactly swooning over him, as Antonio was used to. Hard to get, apparently, or he just didn't truly revolve around Antonio's very existence.

...eh, better to pretend he was playing hard to get.

Christmas may have been bust, with Ludwig disappearing half of the time to, god forbid, actually do his job and tend to patients, so Antonio could only try again.

Three days later, Ludwig came into the room, and, after changing the bandages, said, "It's time for you to start physical therapy. Can't have you in bed too long."

Oh, thank god! Was beyond ready to start moving.

The sooner he was walking, the sooner he was sweeping Ludwig off his feet. So to speak.

Ludwig seemed to be pleased at Antonio's eagerness. Seeing so many men who wouldn't ever walk again, it must have been satisfying to Ludwig to see those instances of success. Antonio wasn't going to let him down anytime soon.

No matter how much it hurt to start walking.

God almighty! That pain. Wasn't his proudest moment by any means, but when Ludwig had stood him up and another nurse had grabbed his other arm and he had to walk for the first time, Antonio hung his head and cried.

Didn't think it would hurt so much.

Even when he was on his back on the floor and the nurse was forcing his leg into flexes, Antonio stared at the ceiling and kept his eyes squinted. Hated crying like that in front of them, but it was impossible not to.

Ludwig's face had fallen by the time he had taken Antonio back to bed, and he regretted that, but was quick to say to Ludwig, as he left, "I'll be walking soon. You'll see. For you. You saved my life. Least I can do is walk for you. "

A softening of Ludwig's face.

"The doctors saved your life, not me. But I have no doubt you'll find your feet."

Rightfully so.

Two weeks after his physical therapy had started, Antonio was able to walk on his own with effort. Limped enough to require a cane (temporary, he was assured), but it was great to have that extra freedom. To be able to go where he wanted and when, if not slowly.

He was confident and feeling even a bit arrogant when he walked back to his room on his own that first day, Ludwig trailing protectively a pace behind.

Ludwig must have seen it, because before he walked away, Ludwig warned, "Now. Don't you go getting yourself into trouble just because you can walk. I'm always watching you."

Undaunted, Antonio crooned, "What a lucky man I am!"

Another tint of Ludwig's face, a flutter of his eyelids in annoyance, and then Ludwig said, very pointedly, "Clean up first, won't you?"

Ouch.

Fair point. Antonio was incredibly vain by nature, and he certainly put a bit more effort into himself the very moment he was allowed to get out of bed and walk around. Ludwig's eagle eyes followed him, watching his every move and analyzing from afar, and Antonio was painfully aware of that. Ludwig wasn't so easily impressed, and not looking half-dead would probably be a good first step.

The first thing he did with his newfound freedom the next morning was to wash off and shave. Stood there a good long while before the mirror, so long that he was there with about three rounds of men, and when he was satisfied with his sideburns and his hair, combed neatly back despite the trim it needed, Antonio gathered up his nerve. Couldn't swagger right up to Ludwig and just kiss him, no, but could still swagger up to him. More or less, as much as a man with a cane could swagger.

Impressions.

Ludwig had only seen him lying there useless in bed.

Antonio was a handsome fellow, all vanity aside. Red tints in his hair, green eyes, typical Spaniard cheeks. Had been bigger before he had joined the war, far more impressive physically, but he wasn't yet too thin by any means, miraculously. The hospital had fed him very well. Still a decent catch, if he did say so himself! Would certainly be visiting that gymnasium now that he could walk.

When he left the showers, he wandered about the hall, searching for Ludwig while trying so hard not to rely heavily upon the cane, just in case Ludwig snuck up on him as he was prone to.

He wound up in the common room, for only the third time, and it was nice to be able to walk around and interact with the other men instead of being confined to that wheelchair.

Something that time caught his eye.

He turned his head, and felt himself honing in.

Antonio spied the guitar lying in the corner instantly, and hobbled quickly for it. A comforting sight. Had been years since he'd been around one. He picked it up, made his way to a chair, and set to tuning, glancing up in intervals to search for Ludwig.

Not here yet.

Antonio fiddled with the guitar until it seemed in tune enough, and when he began strumming tentatively, regaining his senses, he realized that he now had another weapon in his arsenal.

Nothing, after all, was more irresistible than being serenaded.

A few of the other patients turned to watch him as he played around, his confidence returned, the motions came back. Muscle memory led his fingers, and Antonio got so into playing a slow flamenco that he didn't even see Ludwig come in at all.

Not until he glanced up a while later, anyway, and saw him there above another patient, checking stitches and turning his eyes frequently in Antonio's direction. The sight of Ludwig startled him, he played the wrong notes, and was quick to refocus.

Couldn't mess up with Ludwig there.

He only glanced up again when he heard giggling in the corner, and saw two female nurses there, whispering to each other and laughing, eyeing Antonio very shamelessly. A burst of ego, confidence, although Ludwig seemed less pleased, brow coming down and lips pursed as he shook his head and carried on checking various wounds.

Ah...

Sure hoped that that was jealousy he was seeing.

Antonio picked up the pace a bit, spurred on, and switched to a far more challenging piece, making very sure to shoot the ladies a wink and a smile.

Kept on trying to meet Ludwig's eyes, but Ludwig, insulted perhaps, merely lifted his chin quite primly and ignored Antonio as he made his rounds.

They would see how long that lasted.

The next morning, Antonio was very confident, arms crossed behind his head as he watched Ludwig changing his bandages, and Ludwig was quite stony, perhaps a bit testy yet at Antonio for winking at the other nurses.

Very undeterred, Antonio asked, as Ludwig worked, "So! Any particular song you like that I can play for you? I can keep on trying to guess the best way to your heart, but it would be a hell of a lot quicker if you just told me."

That time, instead of a twinge of pink, Ludwig's face blazed very red, all the way down to his collar.

Poor guy; was so pale he could never hide a blush.

A grunt, a mutter that was incomprehensible, and Ludwig tried very hard then to focus on his work, if only so that he didn't keel over. Was astoundingly shy, Ludwig, for someone so stern. Was unshakeable, impassive, impervious, until someone complimented him or teased him, and then Ludwig turned into a puddle.

Adorable, it really was, and Antonio pressed, at Ludwig's silence, "Alright, alright. Keep your secrets, then. I'll just have to keep getting creative. It's your fault if I get into trouble."

A deeper blush, and another grunt.

Couldn't even speak anymore.

Ludwig was very, very quick to bolt upright and rush out of the room the very second he was finished, and Antonio watched him go with a smile.

Couldn't handle the pressure of affection, and fled.

Ludwig wouldn't be able to run out on Antonio forever.

The dark-haired nurse came into his room shortly after, glasses shining in the light and snipping scissors threateningly in the air, and Antonio had balked at her, thinking Ludwig had sent her to quietly assassinate him.

But no, she just sat dragged him to the bathroom and trimmed his hair.

From the way she was struggling to maintain a straight face and suppress her smile, she had very much enjoyed startling Antonio, likely at Ludwig's behest.

Antonio was quite content regardless, standing there and admiring himself when she finished, running a hand through his now neat hair rather arrogantly.

She shook her head, and walked away.

Antonio was on his warpath, and Ludwig was never going to get out of it.

Every day, walking was easier and easier. He was quicker now, his limp less pronounced. Didn't stumble as much, and the pain had dulled into a throb. The cane was only a failsafe.

Ludwig seemed to realize that Antonio was now effectively able to hunt him down, and sometimes it was Antonio who snuck up on Ludwig, and Ludwig who was startled and caught off guard.

Those moments when Ludwig squirmed and shifted his weight as Antonio crooned to him; his favorite times. He played the guitar often now in the common room, and Ludwig came around far more frequently than he had before.

Other times, Antonio took to searching for him in the halls, even though he knew Ludwig had work to do and that he was probably just making Ludwig's life harder.

Just liked being around him so much.

The weather had become unpredictable now. Snow one day and rain the next. Dreary and grey, and no one went outside much.

It was sleeting outside one afternoon, as Antonio sought out Ludwig.

He rounded the corner, caught a glimpse of Ludwig's hair through an open doorframe, and ducked inside, eager to engage. Stopped short, though, because Ludwig was asleep. Upright in a tiny loveseat, leaning a bit sideways as he used the bespectacled nurse for balance, she just as asleep as he was. Clear enough how exhausted they were, and had slunk away together to gather a few minutes of reprieve.

A twinge of guilt.

Worked themselves to death, these nurses, never resting and always here. Probably didn't even remember what their homes or families looked like.

Even as they slept, Ludwig's head atop her dark hair and hers atop his shoulder, Antonio could see the circles under their eyes and the rather pallid shade of skin.

Come to think...

It occurred to Antonio then, for the first time, that Ludwig had been there every single day since Antonio had awoken. Hadn't once yet had another nurse change his bandages since he had first asked for Ludwig. That was what, over a month ago? Hadn't had a day off.

The guilt intensified.

Antonio meant to leave, and Ludwig must have heard him, because he inhaled, bolted upright in alarm, looked around in a daze, and when he saw Antonio he asked, _"Was felht dir?"_

Antonio just stared at him, a bit dumbly.

A shake of Ludwig's head, a gathering of clarity, and he said instead, "Are you alright?"

Antonio was quick to assure, "Everything is fine. Go back to sleep. I didn't meant to wake you. Sorry. Go back to sleep, alright? Get some rest."

Ludwig looked around again, clearly quite dazed, and didn't need to be told twice. He rested his head once more in the hair of his fellow nurse, so tired that even Ludwig jerking upright hadn't awoken her, and in a second Ludwig was unconscious again.

Antonio left them alone, and around then that Antonio stopped thinking of ways to impress Ludwig and starting trying to think of ways to make him feel more appreciated. To make him smile.

Deserved it.

As he wracked his brain for ideas, he kept himself otherwise occupied by fiddling with the guitar and lifting weights in the gymnasium.

Antonio broke the rules a little several days later, with some sweet talking, and took the guitar out of the common room and back into the halls. It was rather late in the evening, most people were sleeping, and Antonio wound his way into the quieter halls.

Found himself in the critical care, and poked his head into one room after the other. Didn't really know why or what he was even doing. Just felt rather restless. Too much pent up energy. Thinking constantly of Ludwig but not always able to act upon it. The guys in the common room liked it when he played, and Antonio had it in his mind to take that to the men who couldn't yet get there.

In one room, he saw a man still awake, but only because he was in such obvious pain, writhing and shifting and cold-sweating. Ah, hell—

Antonio crept in, trying not to draw attention, and went over to the edge of the bed. Suppressed his wince, and was glad he did so, because the man looked over at him then. Their eyes met, and Antonio forced himself not to glance back down at those amputated legs.

Shit.

A squint of pain, and Antonio finally asked, "You want some company?"

The man stared at him, wincing, and then said, "Italian."

Oh. Right.

An unfortunate Italian soldier, in the wrong place at the wrong time. Antonio was glad that other nations cared about Spain (allegedly) enough to send their own men, but...

Felt so bad about it, when those men died. Not their country, not their civil war, not their problem. This poor man had volunteered, for whatever reason, and had paid far too high a price.

Antonio looked around, hesitantly, and heaved a sigh, sitting himself down in the chair next to the bed and pulling the guitar up. The man watched him, through those narrowed eyes of pain, and he seemed rather surprised when Antonio started playing, softly.

Didn't know what else to do, if they couldn't speak that well to each other.

Must have been good enough; the soldier's dark eyes closed, he rested his head back on the pillow, and just listened.

Antonio hoped, more than anything, that somehow the soldier felt less pain in that moment. As much as the rain had taken off Antonio's edge, he hoped the music would take away the sharpness of that pain.

Felt like he sat there for hours, playing for that man, and he had long since fallen asleep but Antonio played on anyway.

But, as it so often was, someone far more clever than he snuck up on him, and he happened to glance up, during a pause, to see a figure by the door. Jumped a bit in surprise, quickly recognized Ludwig, despite lurking in the shadows, and Antonio ducked his head guiltily as Ludwig stared him down.

Ludwig took a silent step forward then, turned eyes to the sleeping patient, and tilted his head a bit. A look of contemplation. Antonio waited dutifully for his tongue-lashing, and it didn't take long. Ludwig turned his eyes then to Antonio, and took one more step inside.

"You can't be in here. And, for that matter, it's against the rules to take any of the enrichment items out of the common room. Come on."

As strict as ever. Such a stickler for the rules.

Antonio stood up obediently all the same, and conceded immediately to Ludwig because that was all anyone could ever really do. As he left, Antonio glanced back at the sleeping soldier, and felt that pang of guilt. Antonio was walking, and that man never would again, not on his own legs. One amputated above the knee and the other below. Wasn't right.

Ludwig ushered him out. Still, though, when they stepped back into the hallway and into the dim light, Antonio looked over and could see that Ludwig's voice may have been as strict as ever, but his face was softer than usual.

Didn't look angry at all. Seemed rather...subdued.

As they walked quietly along, Ludwig finally murmured, "If you want to be the hospital piper, that's all well and good, but at least ask me first, if you will. No more sneaking about."

"Yes, sir," Antonio crooned, smoothly, and was very quick to add, "Are you offering to help me break rules?"

They reached Antonio's room, and fell to a halt.

Ludwig turned to face him then, glanced down at the guitar, and said, after a long hesitation, "That man has been here for months. He's in such pain. He can't ever sleep. We've maxed him out on the painkillers, so I can't give him anything more. My duty here is to help everyone recover to the best of my ability. I can't do anything else for him. If _that_ helps him feel better, if he can sleep a bit better, he'll recover faster. That's all. Don't think I'm falling for your endless stream of flattery. Because I assure you I am not."

Sure. Believed that, alright.

They were alone and Antonio was emboldened, so he stepped forward, pressing their chests together, and leaned in far too close when he whispered, "So, then. You'll take me on as your assistant? Is that what you're saying?"

Ludwig, once more, was caught speechless by Antonio's audacity, mouth opening and closing with no sound. Didn't pull away, though, didn't step back. Made no effort at all to remove himself from Antonio's touch, and Antonio was very certain that he was beginning to corral this seemingly untamable fox.

His voice was much lower and huskier when he pressed, "Don't you ever get bored of following the rules? Hm? You need a little more excitement in your life. I can be your bad influence."

It was rather dim, but Antonio could see Ludwig's pale face blazing.

Out of nowhere, and feeling very bold, feeling lucky, Antonio asked, "You ever thought about visiting Spain? When they send me home, maybe you should take a vacation. Come have fun with me. Stay a while. I can get you into all sorts of trouble."

Wasn't as if it hadn't crossed his mind at all, the dumb thought of actually looking over and seeing Ludwig there beside of him in Spain. Shook those thoughts off, because it was impossible. He was only flirting with Ludwig. Didn't know why he thought about him so frequently, and why he always felt that adrenaline rush when he was near.

Hard to keep his balance. Didn't want flirting to become anything deeper than that, but he at times felt himself wavering.

Ludwig finally regained control of himself, took a step back, and whispered, "I fear it's too warm for me there."

Sounded like an excuse to him, and Antonio would have none of it, very quick to call, as Ludwig made a swift retreat, "Good. You can just stay inside my house all day then."

As Ludwig bolted around the corner, Antonio caught a glimpse of how red his neck had become.

Loved tormenting that man.

He didn't want to fall in love, and perhaps he was being careless about Ludwig's sentiments. Spent so much time trying to charm Ludwig but never really stopped to think that he may have ended up doing more harm than good to such a shy man.

But maybe Antonio really was a bad influence, because the next night Ludwig came into his room, shoved the guitar into his chest as lied in bed, and said, curtly, "Follow me."

Antonio did so, and very gladly, and Ludwig led him right back to that soldier he had played to the prior evening.

Again, he was writhing about in pain, and hell, Antonio almost didn't even want to go in, he felt so goddamn bad about it. But Ludwig hung in the doorframe, pushed Antonio through with one hand, and said, "Play."

Antonio did.

Sat down just like the night before, as the soldier looked over at him, and he played for hours until the soldier fell asleep.

Ludwig checked in from time to time, and when he saw the soldier sleeping, Antonio was so certain that he saw Ludwig's lips twitch.

Antonio dreamt of Ludwig that night.

Every day, the lines blurred a bit more and Antonio could no longer clearly see the reason as to why he pursued Ludwig. Those stupid notions of seeing him in Spain. Suddenly dreading being sent home, and no longer having that voice in his ear. Was too stubborn yet to admit that he had gotten a bit too close to Ludwig and was starting to fall for him.

Tried to pretend it was still a game.

After that, it become a bit of a ritual, Antonio's playing, and not necessarily a consensual one; Antonio had the feeling that if ever he had said 'no' that Ludwig would have grabbed him by the ear and dragged him down the hall anyway.

He didn't mind, if it helped. Owed these soldiers at least that, when they had come to the Nationalists aid. Felt pretty good about it, really, thinking that maybe he could actually do something to help someone that had gotten wounded in his country's war.

More than that, more than anything, Antonio loved the way Ludwig looked at him when he sat there in the room with that soldier. Could never have described that expression. No one had ever really looked at him quite like that.

Several days later, a new development.

He happened to glance out of the window towards the garden one cloudy day, and saw something he had never seen before : Ludwig, pushing along a wheelchair, and within that wheelchair, bundled up under several blankets, was that Italian soldier Antonio was playing to.

Curious.

Because he was nosy, Antonio immediately made his way outside, staying behind Ludwig and just watching a bit from afar.

As he came closer, he could hear Ludwig murmuring away in Spanish as the soldier responded in Italian, trying their best to understand each other as well as they could.

Hadn't seen that man at all outside at any point since he had been here.

Antonio finally came forward, falling into step with Ludwig as he wound through the gardens, and Antonio was fully expecting to be chided for something or another when Ludwig looked over at him. He wasn't; Ludwig appeared rather pleased, in fact. As pleased as a statue like Ludwig could appear, that was, and the soldier glanced over at him as well, recognizing him.

Antonio met his dark eyes, and asked, "How are you feeling?"

A response that Antonio understood as, "Alright."

Better than nothing, and the soldier didn't seem to be in such unbearable pain in that moment, although his brow was certainly scrunched. Being outside helped so much, if only by taking the focus on the pain away.

Ludwig's chin was held high, his face was calm, and Antonio was so certain that Ludwig was actually _happy_ then. All the same, Antonio met Ludwig's gaze and asked, "Shall I leave you two alone?"

Ludwig studied Antonio for a while, and then turned his head back straight ahead, saying, "Stay, if you want. You can probably understand him a bit better than I can."

Maybe.

Seemed like Ludwig was more or less telling him to speak to the soldier, to make conversation, and because Antonio was good at that he started talking, about everything and nothing, meeting the soldier's eyes frequently and gesturing often.

They made very clumsy conversation, sometimes understanding well enough to actually discuss and other times not grasping a single word.

A good long hour or so, perhaps two, before Ludwig was taking the soldier back inside.

Antonio strayed from them then, and carried on with his own devices.

That night, when Ludwig came in, he shoved the guitar into Antonio's chest but didn't immediately lead him along. Instead, he lingered there as Antonio stood, looking Antonio up and down and appearing so deep in thought.

Under scrutiny, Antonio might have puffed out a bit. There was a possibility that he was flexing, admittedly. Might have been trying to appear very arrogant and confident.

Finally, Ludwig spoke, in the deepest tone Antonio had yet heard.

"Today was the first time we could ever get him to go outside. He's refused. Would never get out of bed. He didn't want to do anything at all. Although I hate to inflate your ego any more than necessary, I have to give you thanks all the same. He's speaking now. That's a first. Thank you."

Didn't really deserve it; had done nothing extraordinary. Just played a damn guitar for a man in pain, that was all. Had been spur of the moment, nothing planned. Hadn't had any intentions of actually helping anyone.

But Ludwig looked happy, and the soldier spoke, so Antonio supposed that was enough.

Rather than being proud, Antonio waved it off rather sheepishly, saying, "I didn't do anything! You guys do all the hard work."

Ludwig gave a 'hm', and began the walk down the hall.

Before he shoved Antonio into the room, however, he leaned in and whispered, very close to his ear, "There's only so much medicine can do. I've run my course here. This is your patient now."

A shiver, from how close Ludwig was.

It was Antonio's game, but Ludwig seemed to be pulling him in, seemed to be clouding Antonio's judgment.

Antonio carried on playing for that soldier, not only because it was helping him but also because it was helping Antonio creep ever closer to Ludwig.

Did wonder though, if Ludwig was about to put Antonio to work in seriousness and have him playing soon to every patient in the critical care. Sounded very much like something Ludwig would do, come to think...

Worse fates.

The following day, the soldier was in the common room for the first time. Antonio smiled upon seeing him, in his wheelchair in the corner, that dark-haired nurse being the one that day to tend him. She must have been the one that spoke a little Italian, because they were conversing quietly and seemed to understand.

When Ludwig found him, hours later, he was smiling, too.

Ludwig was _smiling_.

Antonio stared at him for a long while, unable to tear his eyes away. Getting anything at all from Ludwig had been a grand struggle, and to see him smile—that was extraordinary. The most beautiful thing he had ever seen, he was sure of it.

And that was when Antonio knew he was in trouble.

It seemed that all of the nurses were quite happy to see an improvement in that soldier. So many men here to treat, and yet somehow everyone still garnered adequate attention. It was great, really, but Antonio could only ever see Ludwig.

Over the next few days, Ludwig's pretty smile was rather constant, and Antonio could say for sure then that he was falling head over heels.

Oh, _no_.

Rather foolish, he knew it. Wouldn't be here forever. Had very much wanted to charm Ludwig, to seduce him, but it was when Antonio first saw Ludwig smiling that he realized he was getting in too deep. Started losing control of his sentiments and emotions.

Ludwig was doing him in.

Had merely meant to wade about a bit with Ludwig, splash in the waves, and was now suddenly drowning in the ocean. He had only wanted to flirt, not fall in love. Didn't want to develop any real attachment, didn't want to get too invested, and yet it happened all the same.

That smile.

A problem.

From then on, that Italian soldier and that dark-haired nurse were always together it seemed, as much as Ludwig and Antonio were, and Ludwig wasn't blind to that. Hadn't stopped smiling, and it was such a jarring sight, really, after so long of Ludwig being utterly blank-faced.

It was blinding, and even though Antonio was aware that he was caught in that riptide, he was very complacent to just let it carry him away. Would take him nowhere, would only cause hurt in the end, but he had always lived very much in the moment, impulsive and brash, and the urge was too strong.

Couldn't fight it off.

Antonio saw an opportunity for himself, as he so often did, and didn't waste it.

He saw Ludwig staring at them one day, came up to his side, and whispered, very lowly, "Are we watching another love story unfold?"

As expected, Ludwig's face reddened, he snapped his head over, and uttered, weakly, "Another?"

Antonio looked Ludwig up and down, making his thoughts very obvious, leering away, and Ludwig was quick to vanish the very second Antonio turned his head.

Ludwig always escaped when he needed to gather himself, and Antonio waited patiently.

The next day, Ludwig was quite stoic again when he came inside Antonio's room.

Antonio looked over, and smiled.

"Ah. My favorite nurse. Don't you ever go home? Do you not sleep?"

From the dark circles that were always under Ludwig's eyes, the answer to that last one was rather obvious, but when he really stopped and thought about it, it did indeed seem as if Ludwig was always here. That other nurse, too.

Ludwig merely waved a hand in the air as he came forward, murmuring, "I have to do something to keep myself occupied, now, don't it?"

"Yeah," Antonio drawled, as Ludwig leaned over him and began unraveling his bandages. "But there's such a thing as too much work. You're not going to keep anyone from dying if you're half-dead yourself. You should take a break. Go rest. Get some sleep."

A quirk of Ludwig's brow, and a tired sigh.

"I can't sleep," Ludwig finally said, quietly. "I worry too much about my brother. Seeing all these men come in. I think too much about what can go wrong. I'd rather stay here and be busy than think too much."

A twinge of sadness.

Ludwig's brother, as much as that Italian soldier, had no right to be sacrificing so much for a country they didn't call home. Wasn't right.

As Ludwig tossed the old bandages aside, Antonio asked, perhaps randomly, "Had your brother let you join the army, would you have volunteered to go to Spain?"

Ludwig didn't hesitate, didn't falter at all, and didn't even look up when he said, immediately, "Yes. I would have followed my brother anywhere. The moment he volunteered, so too would I."

"And why did _he_ volunteer? If you don't mind my asking."

That time, Ludwig did hesitate, and his look was far darker.

"He said it was the right thing to do, if the Soviet Union was going to back the Republicans."

A rather admirable sentiment, one Antonio certainly shared, and so he didn't understand that look on Ludwig's face.

Carefully, he tread out, and asked, "You don't agree?"

Didn't want to go too far and make Ludwig paranoid that he was being suspected of sympathizing with communism. Enough to alarm anyone these days. Hadn't meant it like that, exactly. Was more curious if Ludwig just didn't believe in fighting other men's wars.

But Ludwig's answer wasn't one he expected at all, and it was quite _sad_.

"That's what he _said_. I don't believe that at all. He's... He wanted to go, just because he wanted to fight. He doesn't care about Spain, or Franco or communism. He just wants to fight. He's so reckless. He's always looking for ways to— Sometimes, I think maybe he just wants to die. Be some kind of war hero. I worry so much that he just wants to go out in some blaze of glory. He thinks something like that really matters. He only thinks about himself. I worry so much about him."

Ludwig's hands had long since stopped moving, and Antonio hated that look on his face. That awful shadow. The crinkle of his brow and the compulsive swallowing.

Didn't know why he asked at all, and knew even less why he said, perhaps out of line, "He must not only think about himself, if he wouldn't let you join. If nothing else, he cares about _you_. There are far worse men out there than that."

Ludwig inhaled, seemed to steady himself, and eventually set back to work.

It was a long while before he spoke again, to whisper, as if to himself, "I wish I could be more like you."

A rush of elation. Ego.

Ludwig instantly looked mortified, face suddenly blazing red, and it was only because he had never seen anyone blush _that_ hard that Antonio pretended he hadn't heard. Didn't want Ludwig to have an aneurysm. Not now, when he was so close.

Shaking it off, Ludwig regained his courage and asked, "What about you? What drove you to fight?"

Antonio eyed Ludwig up and down, enjoying that shade of red and still high on the words, and so easily replied, "Well. Like your brother said, it was the right thing to do. It's my country. I should care about what happens to it. What can I say? I'm Catholic. The thought of communism scares the hell out of me. I didn't wanna risk it. If the Republicans won, I'd never forgive myself for just sitting at home. Better to fight, that way I can say I did everything I could."

Ludwig's hands had stopped moving as they had before, as he listened to Antonio.

Seemed fascinated.

"Weren't you frightened to fight?"

"Everyone is. We fight anyway. Why do you seem so surprised? You're the same."

At that, Ludwig scoffed.

"Hardly. I've never fought. I don't know what it's like. I have only my imagination, and too good a view of the consequences."

Right.

Ludwig was very clearly a brave guy, had shown no hesitation at apparently desiring to enlist and follow his brother, but Antonio could see that being on his end, seeing mangled men come in, must have made it overwhelming. The thought of war was terrifying to someone who had only seen death rolling in from it. Antonio had long since been desensitized.

They fell silent, Ludwig finished, and when he stood up, he said, a bit wistfully, "Your legs look better every day. Soon, you'll be good enough to go home."

Couldn't tell from Ludwig's guarded face how he felt about that, but the fact that his face was guarded at all made Antonio think he wasn't looking forward to it.

A sentiment he suddenly shared.

Two damn years fighting, never faltering and believing so much in what he was doing, and now he just wanted to stay put.

Ludwig walked out, and Antonio lied back and stared at the ceiling.

Well, hell! The war was so close to ending. The Republicans were hanging on by a thread. Everything was going in his favor. The Nationalists would win soon. Franco would seize power. What was the rush to go back home? He'd done his part, and if he did go back now it would only be to be discharged because he wasn't fit to fight.

Wished he could just hang out here in this hospital with Ludwig.

Could only make the best use of the time he had left.

That being said, whenever he passed the doctors in the hall, Antonio did make a bit of a point of limping more than he really needed to. Why not drag it out a bit? No need to get sent home _too_ early.

It was raining frequently now, as winter fought with spring.

Antonio loved it, seeing the water rushing down the windowpane, but it was clear that his recently-discovered adoration for precipitation was not a common feeling.

Ludwig, in particular, always looked so dreary when it rained.

No one could go outside, Ludwig couldn't see his patients stretching their legs, and usually just stood by the window.

So he was that one quiet day, when Antonio came into the common room and saw him there alone and silent.

Ludwig stood there at the window and stared out at the rain. Didn't move at all. Just stared and stared, hands clasped there before him and lips pursed. Could see in his low brow and frequent blinking that he was fretting over his brother again, perhaps spurred on by the torrential downpour.

Antonio limped over to him, fell into his side, and they stood there together in silence, just watching the rain come down.

That wonderful sense of calm.

Wished Ludwig could feel that, too.

As he often did, with so much free time, Antonio began plotting.

Ideas came and went.

Eventually, something clicked and came together, slightly.

The next time it rained, Antonio was determined to get Ludwig out and about in it. Had it all planned out (more or less) in his head : wait for the rain, drag Ludwig outside through the grounds, and take him to that little shed way in the back. It was the only structure on the grounds with shingles, so small and easy enough to hear through. Made the perfect setting, up in his mind, to sit Ludwig down and get him to just listen to the rain pounding away on the roof.

Wanted Ludwig to be calm enough, more than anything, just to relax and maybe even fall asleep. Just rest a little.

It was a Thursday evening when it rained again. Started lightly, as the sun had begun to set. The orange glow of dusk, steadily covered by the grey clouds rolling in. Antonio watched Ludwig wandering about, finishing up a round and directing everyone to begin returning to their rooms.

When Ludwig came up to him and twitched his head towards the hall, Antonio didn't obey.

Ludwig didn't realize at first, having turned away from Antonio to finish with the rest, and when the room was mostly empty, Ludwig turned back around. Quirked his brow up at seeing Antonio stubbornly lingering, and Antonio had crept over to the wrong door and had the handle in hand.

Ludwig came forward, grumbling, "Don't even think about it."

Antonio pulled the door open, just a bit.

"Come walk with me," he said, as he slunk through the door and into the entrance hall.

"It's raining," Ludwig stated, very firmly, following Antonio and poking his head through the door. "You can't go out in the rain. I'll have to change those bandages if they get wet."

Ludwig didn't seem to realize that Antonio liked having him around as much as possible, apparently, and when he walked to the front door, the rain had started coming down harder.

Ludwig followed him, persistently, stern face increasingly agitated as Antonio refused to obey his commands to return to his room. When Antonio grabbed the handle of the final door and began pulling it open, Ludwig lunged forward to grab him.

Not quickly enough, and Antonio had darted out and onto the stone steps. Immediately, he heard Ludwig curse in German, and Antonio had hobbled down the stairs and onto the ground as Ludwig stood reluctantly above in the frame.

A very potent glare.

"Get back inside. Now."

Antonio backed up, turned his eyes up to the grey sky, and said again, "Come walk with me."

Ludwig merely responded, "You're crazy."

Antonio raised his arms at his side, as thunder rumbled in the distance, his hair already soaked to his head, and said, "I'm already wet! You may as well join me. What do you have to lose?"

"My patience," Ludwig grumbled, ever hanging above and very sharply glaring down.

Antonio, knowing that Ludwig didn't really have much of a choice, just snorted, turned around, and started ambling unevenly along towards the gardens.

That smell he loved, that scent of rain hitting the dirt. Didn't Ludwig like that as well?

Another curse, a sigh, and then he heard Ludwig running after him.

The rain was becoming torrential, and when Antonio had taken the first step onto the trail, Ludwig grabbed his arm and tried to pull him back.

"You've had your fun! Back inside. I'm grounding you."

Antonio laughed, digging his heels into the earth and refusing to budge.

"What are you gonna do? Take away my dessert privileges?"

Another glare.

"The guitar ones, too," Ludwig snapped, trying again to pull Antonio back, and it was clear how annoyed he was that he was wet.

Ludwig's hair had started coming loose.

Antonio took another step with effort, as he tried to drag Ludwig and Ludwig tried to drag him, and Antonio finally said, "I have something I wanted to show you. Just walk with me a little. I'm wet, you're wet. Going back inside isn't gonna change it. Come on."

"You're going to get sick. It's too cold to be wet like this. I already worked too hard on keeping you alive. I don't think I have the energy for a second attempt."

"I believe in you, dear."

Ludwig's glare could have very easily killed a dog, but Antonio had long since built up a tolerance to it, and in the end Ludwig was really just all talk. Sure enough, when Antonio tugged again and started walking, Ludwig reluctantly followed him.

Not without sighs and grumbles and curses, but followed him all the same.

Ludwig didn't have a choice; couldn't leave a patient wandering the grounds alone in a thunderstorm, after all. Ludwig had far too high a sense of duty and responsibility for that, and Antonio knew he was taking advantage of it.

Would be worth it, hopefully.

They wound through the paths, into the trees and hedges, and when the hospital was scarcely visible both for the foliage and the rain, Ludwig finally asked, "Where are you taking me? What have you been up to?"

The little shingled shed was visible in the distance.

So close.

The sky above ripped open then, a burst of lightning lit up the clouds, and the rainfall went from torrential to seemingly cataclysmic.

Ludwig had jumped at the thunder, rightfully so considering that it was directly above them, and seemed to change his mind. He stopped where he was, once more grabbed Antonio's arm, and started tugging him back to the hospital.

"Enough. Back inside. We can't be out here in this."

No way—so close! The shed was right there, and Antonio wasn't going to turn back when the goal was within his sights.

He tugged back, trying with all of his might to force Ludwig back into that shed, because he had come so far. Ludwig resisted yet, and dragged Antonio back several paces.

Not yet.

They went back and forth, either one refusing to concede.

With one desperate tug, Antonio forced Ludwig back, and he stumbled a bit.

As always, Antonio saw an opening and used it.

That time, it was too much, just couldn't help himself. Had fought it off for so long, and had reached the limits. He whirled Ludwig back around as Ludwig tried to catch his balance, and this time Antonio raised up his other hand and snatched Ludwig's collar. Before Ludwig could struggle or speak, Antonio had already pressed forward and kissed him.

Ludwig's eyes shot wide open, he fell entirely still there within Antonio's hands, and Antonio used that immobility to put everything he had into it.

Ludwig's other hand rose up and snatched Antonio's sleeve, but aside from that he had yet to move.

The rain fell, they were dripping and soaked and cold, Antonio's leg was throbbing, but it was quite heavenly regardless. Ludwig's eyes fluttered closed shortly after, he slumped, and when Antonio raised his hand instead to the base of Ludwig's neck, he found himself being kissed in return.

Standing there below the angry sky, unable to see anything around them, caught in each others' arms and falling into a moment of serenity.

Surreal.

Ludwig didn't seem to realize that Antonio was walking him back to the shed, or if he did then he just didn't care at all.

A clumsy stumble into the shed, Antonio pushed the door shut behind them, and the next thing he knew he was sitting on the wooden floor, legs splayed out, Ludwig on his knees between them, still clinging to neck as Antonio held his waist for balance.

More than he had hoped for.

When at last they pulled back from that kiss, when they separated for air, Antonio said, deeply, "I swear this wasn't why I brought you out here."

"Sure," Ludwig drawled, but seemed hardly bothered anymore.

This was exactly the sort of thing Antonio would have pulled off to get Ludwig alone, yeah, but just this one time he honest to god hadn't brought Ludwig out here to kiss him. Wanted very much to get sidetracked, however, when Ludwig leaned down and kissed him instead.

...ah. Had wanted to make Ludwig happy, and this didn't seem too counterproductive to his goals. So why not just roll along with it?

He made good use of that kiss, as Ludwig's hands held the back of his neck and the thunder rumbled overhead, dragging Ludwig down and trying very hard to meld them into one being. Didn't work, but Ludwig's red face and deep breathing were quite good enough.

But it was the circles ever visible beneath Ludwig's eyes and the rain on the roof that reminded him that he had wanted Ludwig to rest, and Antonio twisted around, maneuvering placid Ludwig in his hands until they were lying down side by side, facing each other, chests touching and noses brushing.

A strange moment, to be soaking wet in a little supply shed of a hospital in a thunderstorm. Stranger still for it to be with a man like Ludwig, who required so much work and tenacity to wrangle. Hadn't ever thought he'd get Ludwig to be so reckless. Had forced his hand, sure, but he was here all the same.

A long, silent stare between them, Ludwig's damp bangs plastered to his forehead as Antonio brushed his own back and out of his eyes.

Felt more than a bit mischievous, thrilled and excited, breaking rules as it was, hiding here with Ludwig in a shed in the dark, the only light coming through the dusty window and door cracks being the eerie orange glow of the hospital's distant lamps. The scent of wood and dust, dirt, as they lied there on planks that had a good bit of sawdust yet. Tools hanging on the walls and piles of various maintenance items in the corners.

Thunder, ever rumbling above.

Ludwig scrutinized him, and finally murmured, "It's funny how your leg seems to work a lot better when there are no doctors around."

Had noticed that, had he? Unsurprising. Those razor eyes spotted everything.

Unbothered, Antonio replied, "Just trying to hang around a little longer. I think I might like you."

"Indeed? That was news to me."

He reached out and rested his hand on Ludwig's cheek, and Ludwig smiled, for just a moment, before attempting to appear serious once more.

"So then. What is it you so desperately wanted to show me? Mm? The shovel? Perhaps the shears? The mallets?"

Oh, man, was Ludwig ever letting him have it now. Guess there actually was a sense of humor, if not dry, beneath the bedrock. Felt as if every day, a bit more of Ludwig's hidden personality shone through, and Antonio fell ever harder. Kinda unfair.

"No," Antonio primly replied. "The roof."

A twitch of Ludwig's eyes upward, impeded by Antonio's hand.

"Oh? You do know I'm a nurse, not maintenance. I won't be climbing up there to fix any leaks. I'll require a pay raise for that."

Antonio snorted, rolled onto his back, and turned his eyes upward. Ludwig mimicked him, eyes running over the ceiling above him rather curiously. Clearly lost as to what Antonio was referring to.

So Antonio said, not so helpfully, "Close your eyes."

He was actually rather surprised when Ludwig obeyed without another smart comment. Ludwig was being very cooperative now that Antonio had kissed him. Maybe Ludwig was as lonely as Antonio was, and was looking for a reprieve from that endless cycle. Needed a distraction.

Antonio reached out, and intertwined his fingers within Ludwig's.

Ludwig was silent, waiting patiently for Antonio's move, and Antonio closed his own eyes then.

"Hear the rain? It sounds better on the shingles."

"On the what?"

"The shingles. This type of roof."

"Oh. Is that why you wanted to come here?"

"Yeah."

Ludwig opened his eyes at that, looking over at Antonio incredulously, and it was clear that he hadn't been serious in his query.

Antonio was quick to chide, and said, "Hey! I didn't say to open your eyes."

A quick glare of annoyance, but Ludwig sighed and closed his eyes again all the same.

Antonio focused on the rain, finding that grey plane of calm that he had relied upon during the fighting, and when he spoke to Ludwig then he had lowered his voice into a murmur.

"The first time I ever shot someone, I had nightmares for days. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't get over it, until I killed someone else. Then I just... I think I was in shock. I didn't talk to anyone at all. Seeing all those things, hearing about other things, that shouldn't ever happen. I couldn't figure out how to keep going on like that. I knew I was doing what was right, but still...rounding up men that surrendered and shooting them, that— So, whenever I started thinking too much, whenever I just wanted to give up, I would just sit wherever we were and listen to the rain. It made me forget about everything else. It was just me and nature, I guess. I remembered that there was an entire world out there. Not everything was just people dying. Anytime it rained, I'd just watch it, and that was the only time I could feel calm. I didn't think about anything I had seen or done. I just watched the rain. Listened to it on the roof. It made me feel happy. I hate seein' you looking so down whenever it rains. I wish you could see it the way I do."

When he glanced over, Ludwig had opened his eyes and was staring at him.

Couldn't pinpoint that expression.

Didn't care. Just loved the way Ludwig's eyes ran over his face.

They stared at each other for a long while, and then Ludwig turned his eyes back upward, closed them, and Antonio could see that he was trying to listen to the rain.

Antonio followed suit.

Long moments of quiet and comfort, Ludwig's hand ever there within his own.

Didn't know how long had passed, as he fell into that familiar trance, but when Antonio finally looked over, Ludwig's breathing was deep and even. Steady.

Asleep.

Good. Was glad to see it. Didn't matter if it was from the sound of the rain or if because Ludwig was just so tired that he would have slept anywhere. Was just happy to see him rest.

Antonio watched him, fascinated by the sight of him, and lied complacently still the entire while that Ludwig slept, watching his chest falling and rising.

Not a long rest, as Ludwig stirred shortly after at another burst of thunder, sitting upright at the waist quickly and looking around in a daze. Antonio sat up with him, resting his hand on Ludwig's back to settle him down as Ludwig asked, huskily, "What time is it? I'm late. How could you let me sleep so long?"

Antonio had to grab Ludwig's arm to keep him still, and when their eyes met, Antonio said, as soothingly as he could, "You're not late. It hasn't been long at all. Really. You just nodded off for a few minutes. It's fine."

Ludwig's gaze cleared up, he exhaled, and rubbed his palms over his face.

Poor thing was gonna end up in one of these beds with the patients if he wouldn't ever let himself just rest.

Ludwig's palms lowered, his pale eyes peered out from above his fingertips, glinting in the dim orange light creeping in through the door, and when their gazes locked, Ludwig murmured, out of nowhere, "Your eyes are so pretty."

Antonio didn't know why he did it, but he did; he just grabbed Ludwig's shoulders, pushed him back down onto the floor, and rolled over on top of him.

Hands on the back of his neck, his own lifting up to brush Ludwig's fallen hair out of his eyes.

Antonio was going to tease Ludwig, and meant to say, 'Have I cleaned up enough for you now?' Didn't get his chance, because Ludwig just lidded his tired eyes and pressed up, kissing him before he could speak. Thought fled, and there was no speaking at all after that.

Just warmth and comfort, running his hands over someone that he cared about and that cared about him in turn.

It wasn't exactly how he had pictured romancing Ludwig, but somehow it was quite beautiful all the same, hidden away and in the dark, forgetting the outside world for just a moment, together in the middle of a storm.

Hadn't known that the sound of the rain was so much better when there was someone there with him. The feel of skin against his own, warm against the cold air. Heavy breathing mingled with the pounding above on the shingles.

Being tangled up in someone new, that rush of elation that came with someone putting trust into him and giving him love.

Losing track of time, wrapped up in ecstasy.

The soothing sensation of lying atop someone and catching his breath as fingers ran through his hair and down his back. Shivering at light brushes.

His leg hurt like hell, but it was well worth it.

Ludwig did eventually chide him, as fully expected, and murmured, as Antonio's head rested atop his heart, "If you've opened up a wound, I'm forcing you to wrap it yourself."

Antonio snorted, and retorted, "Lies. You have to change it anyway, remember? You let me get all wet. Shame on you."

Could practically hear Ludwig rolling his eyes at that one.

Antonio lifted up his head, they stared at each other rather peacefully, and Antonio kissed Ludwig for a good long while before rolling off.

Felt so content then.

Happy.

He reached out, when Ludwig was buttoning up his shirt, and tousled his hair to irritate him. Ludwig swatted him away, but his smile stood strong.

Outside, the storm had mostly passed. The rain was heavy still, but the thunder was distant. Would have stayed there for far longer, in that little shed, just sitting beside Ludwig and whispering to him, but it was prudent to get back in before he actually did get sick.

They crept back inside, soaking wet and smiling, and Antonio couldn't really recall ever being as happy as he was then, as they went into Antonio's room, leaving a trail of water behind them. As soon as the door shut, Antonio was quick to kiss Ludwig, as Ludwig smiled and struggled against him, trying to squirm out of his arms. Let him go eventually, and Ludwig went to change. Next Antonio saw, dutiful Ludwig was mopping the floor to avoid anyone slipping in the water.

Antonio just leaned in the frame and watched him, and knew, more than anything, that he wanted to take Ludwig to Spain.

Wondered what his chances actually were of that.

Maybe he could stay in Germany, if it came down to it. Would rather be home, but Ludwig surely felt the same. A compromise would have to be reached, were this to become a relationship.

And did Antonio ever want that, suddenly and furiously.

When Ludwig changed his bandages after mopping, Antonio reached out frequently to brush back his stubbornly falling hair.

Ludwig hadn't stopped smiling.

That night, Ludwig slept in the spare bed in Antonio's room, because he never went home anyway and the nurses frequently just slept where they could. How comforting, to have Ludwig there, and they whispered to each other until Ludwig had fallen asleep.

When Antonio awoke just before dawn, Ludwig was long gone. Had probably only slept for a few hours, knowing him.

Still smiling away, though, when he came in later.

Time sped up in that love-struck daze they were in, and Antonio loved every minute of it. Loved every time they found themselves in a room alone and Antonio could kiss Ludwig. Loved every time Ludwig's hands would linger there upon him.

And loved, above all else, every night they snuck out to that little shed during a rainstorm.

Passed far too quickly.

The first day of April.

Antonio went back to his room after breakfast, ever thinking of his impending discharge and how he would take Ludwig with him.

Hadn't exactly realized he had fallen asleep at all until a hand was on his shoulder, shaking him gently. He came to with an inhale, looked blearily around, and saw Ludwig standing over him.

A lovely sight on its own, but when he realized Ludwig was actually _beaming_ it became downright beautiful. Had never seen him smile like that, never.

Antonio gawked up at him, and asked, "What?"

Ludwig grabbed his arm, and began tugging him out of bed. "Come! Hurry. You'll miss it."

Didn't bother to ask what, exactly, he would miss, because Ludwig was already dragging him along and Antonio was too enthralled by being in his arms to really even care about it at all.

Until they were in the common room, anyway, and the men were absolutely packed around a radio. Could barely even get inside the room at all, as everyone seemed to be there. A speech was being given, a voice booming from the radio against bursts of static.

Recognized the voice right off.

Franco.

Ludwig was smiling away helplessly, and Antonio knew why.

Franco was announcing his seize of power. The war was over—the Nationalists had won. Had been apparent now for a while that that would be the case, but to hear it! That was spectacular.

Ludwig may or may not have cared about Spain's fate, but was elated all the same because the end of the war meant his brother would return unscathed. No more staring out at the rain and wringing his hands, no more fretting.

Antonio was as happy for that as he was the end of the war.

The Italian soldier, for his part, seemed relieved. Vindicated. Couldn't imagine how he would have felt had the Nationalists lost. Feeling as if it had all been for nothing. That would have been too much for anyone. The bespectacled nurse leaned down, and whispered something in his ear. Swore that soldier almost smiled for a moment.

It was a great day, yeah... Just couldn't be as excited as he wanted to be. Antonio knew that it wouldn't be much longer before he was sent off home, and that dampened his enthusiasm just a bit.

Felt better later on, when they were alone and Ludwig kissed him quite enthusiastically, bolstered as he was.

On the last week of April, Ludwig came up to Antonio, and said, "I'm going to be gone all next week. I took my vacation. My brother is coming home."

Antonio reached out, and clapped Ludwig's arm eagerly.

"Oh, yeah? I'm damn glad to hear that! Get some rest, won't you? I expect you to sleep all week."

Knew that that was wishful thinking, the way Ludwig had been looking forward to seeing his brother after so long. Wouldn't sleep at all, probably, ready to pounce on his sibling as he was.

But, oh...

Was that the longest week ever.

Antonio passed the time by watching the Italian soldier and the dark-haired nurse, and that was enough to keep him smiling and preoccupied. They were always together, and it was quite nice to see.

She had him in the showers one day, Antonio watching as she so carefully shaved him although he could certainly do that himself, her eyes focused, and the soldier just stared at her the whole while as if entranced. Wondered if that was how he looked when Ludwig was nearby.

One time in the common room, the nurse had bent over, and her glasses had toppled right off and into the soldier's lap. He picked them up, and instead of giving them back to her immediately, he teased her a bit, bring the spectacles up to his own eyes and squinting through them. She huffed, chiding him, but was smiling all the same. When he finally gave them back to her, his fingers brushed over her hand.

The flowers outside had bloomed, and the soldier wheeled himself up to her one day in the sunlight and held out a little bouquet he had picked. She beamed, prettily, and took them with excitement. Antonio snorted, and knew that had he tried that with Ludwig, Ludwig would have given him a long lecture on how it was 'against the rules to pick the flowers on the premises'.

Nice to see other people being happy, and especially that soldier, who had such a long road ahead of him.

Kept his mind off of having to eventually leave Ludwig behind.

When Ludwig came back the next week, it was like the return of the sun, and Antonio was so happy to see that the circles under Ludwig's eyes were all but gone. He had caught up on rest, clearly, and that was a great sight.

Ludwig smiled when he saw Antonio, and Antonio could see there on his face that same softness that was on the other nurse when she looked at that soldier. Maybe that was why he had watched them so much; because they were falling in love, and he had fallen in love with Ludwig. Seeing himself there.

Antonio adored the world when it was in love, and wished in some way that he could have passed the rest of his life there in that stretch of time.

But he couldn't, and two weeks after that it was finally time.

Time to go home.

Ludwig had been very quiet that morning as he unwrapped Antonio's legs, and even though he hadn't said it aloud Antonio knew. Could sense it, because it was only inevitable. Become more obvious when Ludwig threw away the bandages and didn't put new ones on. Didn't need them anymore; his wounds had healed.

Hated that horrible look on Ludwig's face as he studied Antonio, thoughtfully. A mixture of contentedness and melancholy. Happy, and yet so devastated.

That sad smile.

"Well," Ludwig began, his voice as low as it could get without becoming inaudible, "Looks like you've healed. Time for you to go home. Long overdue. We both know you stayed far longer than was truly necessary."

Not long enough.

Hated worse that awful ache in his own chest.

Should have known better than to fall in love overseas, with a foreign nurse he was likely doomed to never see again.

Ludwig lowered his eyes to Antonio's chest, unable to maintain eye contact, and added, "I'm happy everything went so well for you. You're as good as new, and your war is won. You have some kind of luck there, soldier."

Dumb luck.

Antonio was silent, not only because he didn't know what to say but because he felt so down, so defeated in a way. His own fault, he knew it, for being foolish.

Perhaps because of Antonio's silence, Ludwig finally took a step back, inclined his head, and turned to walk away. As he went, he said, softly, "Rest up. I'll begin your discharge papers. We'll have you back in Spain in no time."

Felt rather dumbfounded.

He managed to crawl out of bed in time to snatch Ludwig's sleeve at the last second, drag him back, and kiss him. Lasted far too long, and was far too dismal. Ludwig's hand, clenching his shirt. His own resting on Ludwig's cheek.

That sad look on Ludwig's face when he pulled back.

Antonio could only wait, helpless to do anything about it, and, just like Ludwig had said, he was back in Spain in no time.

Two days later, in fact.

Saying goodbye to Ludwig had been one of the hardest things Antonio had ever done, and Ludwig couldn't even lift his eyes at all. Just low whispers and halfhearted murmurs, and they had exchanged addresses with the promise to write each other.

As much as the sun had come back with Ludwig, it went out when they parted ways.

Antonio went back to Spain in a daze, and when he was home, in the ruins of his country, he sat down and looked around and realized how _lonely_ he actually was. Hadn't been so noticeable before the war, because he had always gone into town to chatter and flirt.

Different now that he had fallen in love.

Everything that had once been bright and comforting seemed empty and dark, and the sky turned grey a while later.

So, Antonio sat down at his desk, pulled out pen and paper, and stared down.

What to say.

So many things he had in his head, and yet they sounded so silly. He was good at speaking, good at being assertive and intimate, but it felt different like this. Things he could easily say aloud seemed so much more embarrassing when they were being written down on paper.

It was hard at first, but became a bit easier when he stopped judging himself.

He watched the rain falling outside the window, pen in hand and scribbling away in intervals.

He wrote his first letter to Ludwig then, and began this overseas relationship, carefully.


	2. PART TWO

**PETRICHOR**

* * *

**PART TWO**

_**June 30, 1939** _

_Dear L._

_I've made it safely back home. As happy as I am that the war is over, I can't stand seeing my country in ruins. I know that it had to be, for the greater good, but all the same I wish it had just never happened. There are many things I've witnessed upon returning that I regret. Things that should never happen anywhere. I'm glad now for my injury; my discharge has spared me from having those things on my hands._

_It's quiet now. I had almost gotten used to the fighting. When everything is rebuilt and cleaned up, I would very much like to host you for a while, as long as you would stay. You and your brother are always welcome here in my home. You've earned a real vacation, don't you think? Him, as well._

_Come to Spain!_

_Think of it as me expressing my gratitude for your brother's service._

_We'll sit out all night and drink, and your brother can tell me all of his grand war stories. Perhaps I can even share a few of my own. Afterwards, when we're all drunk, we'll go for a walk down to the lake. We'll sit on the shore and talk until sunrise, and then we'll go to a café and get a coffee. When we're sober again, we'll go back home and sleep until the next day. I'll take you sightseeing, wherever you'd like to go. A weekend in Madrid, perhaps. You would like that. There are fine museums in Madrid, and libraries. You would enjoy it._

_I hope you're resting. I hope that you're actually going home now and sleeping, since your brother has safely returned. No more sneaking into rooms to doze off for a few minutes, you hear? Don't test me! If I must, I'll come right back to Germany and force you to catch a good night's sleep. I understand that being a nurse comes with great responsibilities, but you should really put yourself first for once._

_I do miss you._

_Be well._

_A._

_P.S. : No ogling handsome new patients, if you please!_

_**July 18, 1939** _

_Dear A._

_You do tempt me! I read a bit of your letter to Gilbert. He laughed, and said that he's very willing to spend a long weekend in Spain, providing you'll buy him his drinks. I must warn you not to accept that. Gilbert is a champion drinker, and I fear you would find yourself penniless should you entertain him._

_I am saddened to think of the destruction you must be seeing all around you. I was far too young to remember the last great war, but I witnessed the ruins of our once great empire, and I know how it feels to see such history being destroyed. But you, with your endless optimism, shall find your way easily forward, I imagine. I envy that._

_Perhaps you can visit Germany. I will indeed come to Spain, but I cannot say when. I will extend you an invitation, however, as you have extended me mine. You are always welcome here, whenever you so wish. We can drink just as easily here as we can in Spain, you know. (forewarning again : do not challenge Gilbert to a drinking contest. It will not end well for you.)_

_The other nurses speak frequently of you. They miss you serenading us in the evenings. As do I. At the moment, no other patient knows how to play. Your Italian soldier is doing so well! My dear friend is ever at his side. I wait any day now for them to announce that they've eloped, the way they're always together. It makes me smile, but at the same time I'm saddened, because I miss you. I'm once more alone. And, in some other way, I am saddened for her, because I know soon this soldier will leave us, as you have. I hate to think of her feeling this same sadness. But I suppose it's our own faults, isn't it, falling in love with foreign patients._

_Humans are silly creatures._

_I miss you, but receiving your letter made me smile. I would rather have you here beside me, but this is rather nice as well! Let us write each other frequently. I'm sure it does far more for me than it does you. I hope to hold your continued interest, far as I am away from you._

_L._

_P.S. : Fret not; I have yet to encounter a patient more handsome than you. I will, however, be sure to let you know if it ever happens. I'll write_ _that_ _letter from within his dashing arms, of course._

_**August 15, 1939** _

_Darling_

_What a tease you are! I assure you, my interest in you can never wane. You've roped me in entirely._

_Shall you come to Spain yet? I'm always waiting for you to write me and inform me of your impending arrival. You break my heart! These weeks have been long and miserable without you. I admit that I've fallen for you very hard. Your absence is far more unbearable than ever I anticipated. I don't know how you did it. I had envisioned myself an eternal bachelor. You've ruined me. I've turned into one of those lovesick men that sit in the bars and cry into their beer._

_If you can't come to Spain before long because of your work, I will absolutely return to Germany to see you. I can't stand this distance. How I became so attached to you so quickly, I'll never know. You have some sort of charm about you that I'll never understand. It's for the best you don't speak or smile much, for if you did the entire world would be at your whim!_

_Tell that soldier I think often of him, and I wish him the best. Should a wedding indeed happen, inform him that I am hereby formally_ _demanding_ _an invitation! I'll be very displeased if I fail to get one._

_A._

_**September 1, 1939** _

_God! What's happening with the world? Can we have no peace? One war ends and another begins. Can we not rest, for only a while? How are you? Are you alright? I hate thinking of how you must feel right now, as war breaks out right beneath your feet._

_Please come to Spain. Please. I fear this war will only continue to grow. Come now, please, before it gets worse. I can't bear the thought of you being caught up in this impending chaos. I don't want you to see any more of war than you already have. Please come to Spain. I know not if Spain will enter this conflict, but until then, I would have you here. Please. I can't beg you enough._

_Everyone in town is in front of the municipal office, reading the paper and listening to the radio and waiting for news. Waiting for Franco to join, to repay Germany what he owes. So far, he is silent. All we can do is wait, and talk. The majority want to enter the war, it seems, from what I can gather here. Fear of the Americans, in the end, I wager will deter Franco. How I wish I could help._

_I admit that I'm utterly bewildered (and somehow angered) at this sudden Soviet change of heart. It makes me so uncomfortable. I know of course they're doing it for the chance to claim land, as much as I know that Germany merely wants to avoid an unnecessary adversary, but oh! How I hate them._

_I don't like any of this. Everything seems so ominous. Everything can fall apart so quickly. One wrong move, and the entire world will catch fire._

_I'll pay your way here, anything at all, if you would but come. I'll do anything necessary to bring you here. Think about it, darling, please._

_Be safe! Write me as often as you can._

_A._

_**September 28, 1939** _

_Dear A._

_I'm well. As well as can be, rather I should say, with this awful new turn of events. We sit here in the hospital around the radio, dreading once more seeing the victims of war. I dread, above all else, Gilbert being once more sent out. He's waiting so eagerly; it makes me ill. I've asked once more, but he will not allow me to enlist. I know well that I'm fully in control of my own actions, but I feel yet that I must obey my older brother. I never told you, but our parents died in the great war. I don't remember them at all. Gilbert raised me all alone. So, in a sense, he really is my father more than my brother. I will obey him yet, even if I don't wish to. I think that that's why he always want to fight. Perhaps he seeks vengeance. I know not, but I've had my fair share of war. I wish he would just stay here at home._

_I'm sorry, dear, but I cannot now in good conscience go to Spain. I must remain here and perform my duty to the inevitable injured coming my way. It comforts me, in some small way, knowing that you're at least safe from war, for now. You may not see it as I do, but I'm grateful now for your injury. Surely you can never serve again, and please! Don't try. You've done your time. If the war should come to Spain, promise me you won't try to enlist again. I know you._

_I can only hope that this war will be quick. I know it's folly to think so, but otherwise I feel so overwhelmed. So little of this makes sense to me. I just can't understand. Sometimes, I feel as if this world is a bit beyond my grasp. What's the point of any of this? It's senseless._

_Your Italian soldier was sent home yesterday. I was sad to see him go. I feel as if the last bit of you is gone now. Oh, how my friend cried when we were alone. I can't bear it; she's always been so strong, far stronger than I. Seeing her cry was too much. To have heartbreak now, of all times, as the world crumbles... We can only lean on each other now, with less hope than ever. We just wait, in this uncertainty, and hold each others' hands. I'm afraid every day of what awaits me._

_Please, heed my wish and don't enlist again. I beg of you. Your letters will be more important to me now than ever before. I'll write, always._

_Stay safe, and still._

_L._

_**November 2, 1939** _

_Dear L._

_I wake up every day and run straight out for the paper, and then sit with it at the table above the radio. I listen in fear, afraid of what I'll hear. I almost don't want to know. Neutrality should make me happy, but it doesn't. In a way, I feel so disappointed and let down. Almost betrayed, in some odd way. I fought with the German and Italian volunteers, and to think that now we won't aid them as they aided us, it feels so wrong to me._

_I understand how worried you must be about your brother, but hold onto hope yet. Perhaps, just this once, we'll be lucky and this war will end swiftly, before he can be sent out. I don't know what else I can offer you except foolish words of hope._

_I am disheartened that you won't come to Spain, but I suppose it's nothing less than what I expected from a man like you. Your sense of duty is admirable, if not frustrating for me in this instance. I wish only to see you safe._

_I have too much time to think, here alone. At times, I consider going to school and becoming a nurse like you, that I can volunteer to go abroad and help the men, as you are. But I quickly realize that I'm simply not cut out for that. I couldn't handle it the way you do. You're so strong, and put together. I am brave enough for war, to stand before an enemy, to stare down the barrel of a rifle. At that, I'm brave. But I couldn't stand there before a dying man and still treat him, knowing it was hopeless. I couldn't lift my head long enough to do what I needed to do. I would break under the pressure. I don't have that kind of bravery._

_So I sit here and wait. All I can do._

_How I miss you._

_Please, be safe and well and happy. Never give up._

_A._

_**December 25, 1939** _

_Dear_

_Merry Christmas! One year ago we spent it together. How long ago it seems. Today, I spent it with Gilbert, and can only think of you. I hope you're well, and I hope you hold on yet to that cheerfulness. Other people need it, in this frightening world._

_I think perhaps you underestimate yourself. I believe you'd make a fine nurse. Perhaps it's best for me if you stay out of the field, however. I can only imagine how many patients would fall in love with you! Ah, to think of all the letters you would be receiving in addition to mine. Makes me so nervous!_

_Sometimes, where we want to be is not where we're meant to be._

_Stay home, and stay safe._

_If nothing else, just think about how much you being away from war makes me happy. Can that not be enough for you, for now? I hope you pass the day with people you care about. I hope you can be happy. Don't think about me, for once, and just try to laugh. How does Spain look during Christmastime, I wonder? I would love to see it._

_When the war ends, I'll come to Spain. I promise._

_L._

_**February 3, 1940** _

_I shall hold you to your promise, so no more excuses. The very day this war ends, expect my letter, impatiently ordering you here into my arms. I don't want to hear any rubbish about how it's too warm here for you. I'll have a parasol waiting for you, and I'll set up a long line of fans, from the front door to the town square. Can't have you uncomfortable for even a moment, now, can I? I'd be the worst sort of man._

_When you're here, I'll drag you all over the country. You'll be run ragged by the time I'm done with you. I'll show you everything there is to see, and when we're done with Spain, we'll go down to Morocco, and just spend all day on the beach, sleeping under the shade of palm trees._

_You'll retire, naturally. I won't have you lift a hand again. As many lives as you've saved, you've earned a permanent vacation. You can be my personal nurse. I assure you, I'll get into enough trouble to make that a full-time occupation._

_I wait eagerly for the war to end, more so now that I have such a wonderful prize waiting._

_Keep doing your best, whatever happens._

_A._

_**April 16, 1940** _

_How are you? Things on this end are surprisingly calm yet. It seems as if the tide of war is going well so far for us. Gilbert ever waits, and so do I. I sleep less and less every week, as Gilbert grows more restless. I'm terrified he'll just go and demand to be shipped out, to request it. He's always complaining over the paper in the morning when I'm home, checking the news and lamenting that he isn't there as well._

_I wish you were here._

_Late at night, when a day has run far too long to go home, I go into the common room to catch a bit of sleep. I stare at the guitar there, and try to pretend that you're still there, playing. Sometimes, before I fall asleep, I can even hear you._

_I really do try to do my best, but sometimes I feel that I fall short._

_Lately, it seems as if I rely entirely upon the strength of others to keep myself standing. You, more than anyone. I never realized something as simple as getting a letter could be so meaningful. How I appreciate you, more than you know._

_Keep writing me, no matter what happens. I need it._

_L._

_**June 26, 1940** _

_Darling_

_I'll be here, always, and I won't stop writing until you're here in my arms, so no need to fret about that! There are times, though, that I sit here and struggle to find words to write down. I feel guilty, sitting here safely as war unfolds. Having no turmoil around me, while knowing that you're again working yourself into exhaustion._

_I know it falls yet on deaf ears, but come to Spain._

_If nothing else, won't you just promise to make it home every day to sleep? Can I not ask at least that of you? I apologize for being selfish, but I would rather you put yourself first and go home to rest. I worry so about you. With no one there, after all, to force you to nap in that little shed. I know you won't let yourself ever take a break._

_Care for yourself, darling, so that you can better care for others._

_A._

_**September 13, 1940** _

_Dear_

_I wish I could tell you what you want to hear, but I'm afraid I must tell you the opposite._

_Men are beginning to trickle in, wounded in battle. I had hoped this would never happen again, and yet here I am. I need your letters now, more than ever before. I haven't been home in a while. Gilbert comes by to deliver your letters to me. He's still waiting to be shipped out, impatiently. Doesn't seeing these men deter him? Why does he look forward to battle? I can't understand him at all._

_I know this is only the beginning._

_I had hoped to never again see these injuries. I dread now standing there above more men and comforting them, telling them that they'll be alright, even though I know it's not true._

_I dream often of you now. I dream that we're together in Spain, side by side, and that there is no war. In sleep is the only time I find happiness, and that's rather cruel, because sleep is something I so rarely get to have._

_When I walk in the gardens and pass that little shed, I feel oddly homesick. Isn't that strange? Here I am at home, and yet I feel as if I'm far away._

_I miss you more and more with each day that passes._

_L._

_**December 25, 1940** _

_My dearest_

_Merry Christmas! Strange to think it's been so long now since I've seen you. How I miss you. It's supposed to be such a cheery holiday, and yet I sit here alone and think of you, drinking. It's odd, isn't it, how time goes by so quickly when we're together, and now that we're apart it runs so slowly. Every day feels like a month. I wonder if life is really just one long test, a game, that attempts to see how strong we really are. How easily it can break us._

_I walked along the lake this morning, as the sun rose, and I tried to pretend that you were on the other side of it, waiting there on the opposite shore. I stood there just long enough to actually believe it, for a while. But then I came home, and saw your letters here on the desk._

_Like you, I too seek solace in dreams. Preferable these days to reality._

_You know what was odd? It rained a few days ago, and I went to the window to watch it. And no matter how long I stood there, I couldn't find that place that I used to go to. I couldn't find it, however hard I searched, and after a while I just felt sad. So sad, out of nowhere._

_I think I'm losing my fondness for the rain._

_I just want to see you._

_A._

_**March 3, 1941** _

_Dear_

_I write you today for comfort. I've been distraught for so long now, and couldn't bring myself to write until today. Gilbert has finally been sent out to war. He didn't tell me that he was summoned at all until the day before he left. Said he didn't want me to be upset while at work. I was so angry with him. I screamed at him for hours, and then I just cried. When he hugged me the next morning, I couldn't let him go. I didn't want to. He's all I have here. How can he just leave again? When he finally got loose from me and walked away, I couldn't breathe at all. I felt the entire world just collapse down all around me. I want him to come back. He turned back, at the very last moment, and waved goodbye. I could only stare at him through my tears.  
_

_I feel sick._

_I have to ask now that you send your letters directly to the hospital. Without Gilbert to deliver my mail to me, I don't know how often I'll be able to go home and check it. I'll enclose the address._

_I rely on your letters now for strength, more than ever._

_I feel so alone, despite having so many people around me at all times._

_How has the world come to this?_

_L._

_**April 2, 1941** _

_I'm so sorry. How hard that must have been for you, a second time. But have faith. I saw what the Condor Legion could do, and I'm sure your brother will be just fine. Men like that don't go down so easily. From what I've heard of him from you, I have no doubt he'll come back victorious and eager to brag. The war can't possibly last forever._

_I'm here. Always. Whatever happens, you're not alone._

_If you asked it of me, I'll come to Germany, to stay with you and offer my support. I don't care what it would take, I'll do it._

_Please, please don't cry. I can't bear the thought._

_Would that I could end the war for you. You deserve that and so much more. Why can't those with power understand that good people suffer the most when they make war? How unfair it all is._

_A._

_**June 24, 1941** _

_Dear L._

_Today, as you of course know, Franco announced that we're allowed to volunteer to go fight with the Germans! Only against the Soviets, naturally, but that's all we've ever desired. The entire country is in an uproar. Men are lined up all down the street. I wish you could see them. All sorts of men, all so excited to go to Germany._

_We listened to the German invasion of the Soviet Union in town and cheered._

_The men are restless, ready to go to war. I stand there and watch them, and wish I could go, too. I won't volunteer, because I promised you I wouldn't. I hate it._

_Ah—! I'll tell the truth._

_It may be wrong of me, love, but to be perfectly honest with you, my promise to you isn't truly what halts me, so much as my injury. Even if I volunteered, I fear they won't take me. Should I slide past the physical exam here, I know for certain that your men will not be so easily fooled. I can only imagine a room full of duplicates of you, scrutinizing me. I suppose it's not worth risking wasting their time only to be sent back home._

_I envy those men, waiting so impatiently to sign up. I wish I could still fight. It makes me feel so much more useless than before, now that we're allowed to fight and I simply can't._

_I can't stop thinking about it. My leg isn't so bad, really it's not. There are other things I can do besides charge. I can man a tank yet. The machine guns. What do I need to run for? Only to retreat; I wouldn't do that anyhow. If it came to that, I feel that it would be my time._

_I'm sorry. I don't mean to say such things. You've got enough to worry about, don't you, without my foolish rambling._

_I won't enlist. I just wish I could._

_I pray for your continued safety, and for a quick end to the war._

_Chin up._

_A._

_**October 18, 1941** _

_My dear_

_I'm sure by now you know, and no doubt you're writing your own letter at this very moment, but the RAF have begun bombing the city. I can hear the explosions in the distance. So far, no real damage has been caused, and our own men fight yet to deter them._

_Remain in Spain. I don't want you here in Germany, as war comes ever closer to our doors. As for your volunteers, I've heard nothing but remarkable praise. The Blue Division has become a topic of endless discussion here in the hospital, naturally, because we of course have met so many Spaniards in our time. We sit over the radio and listen, and I think always of you. Germans and Spaniards fighting in Leningrad together. Somehow, that makes me smile, if only a bit. I like to think it keeps us connected in some way, despite the years and distance._

_Perhaps we talk so much about the Spaniards to keep our minds from the bombs. We never take the patients outside anymore. Too dangerous now. I can only stand by the window and watch the leaves change color. It's very quiet now in the common room, and I regret it. The patients are nervous, waiting as we all are to hear planes coming. The nearest bunker is so far. It worries me. We are attempting to get funding to build our own, but so far it goes nowhere._

_Would that I could see you. Your optimism would serve us all well. If we could have you here, playing to us to soothe our nerves..._

_I can treat them with medicine, but I can't do anything to stop that fear, and for that I feel so helpless. We nurses just stand now, watching, and can no longer believe our own lies enough to sell them to the men. They look up at the sky through the windows, and I hate it._

_My friend and I took a break to rest, as we try to, and in the middle of sleep the air raid sirens went off. Oh, that awful panic! To be awoken like that, so scared ourselves and yet trying to calm the patients. We learned shortly after it was only a test. No one had informed us. I was so angry. And then, afterwards, I just felt so tired. She came up to me when we were alone again, and hugged me. We cried there together in the shadows for a long time, from frustration._

_Nothing is worse than being so powerless._

_Just waiting._

_I do admit, though, that I'm so proud of Gilbert; he wrote me for the first time recently, and told me of how many air raids they've thwarted. Every day now without a bombing, I like to pretend that it was Gilbert who halted it. How uplifting that is to me, on those bad days. My big brother, the grand war hero that he always wanted to be, if only in my eyes. Perhaps one day I can even call him an ace._

_It makes everything a bit easier, thinking of it like that, even though sometimes I worry so much about him that I throw up._

_Keep smiling. I think of it every night. I remember your eyes, and how pretty they are when you're happy. My favorite memory, I think, is of your hands, when you played the guitar in the evenings. How quickly they moved. I always found that so fascinating, because of course I could never do that._

_I can only hold on to those memories._

_Whatever happens, please don't ever change. You're so wonderful the way you are._

_L._

_**November 2, 1941** _

_Darling_

_I can't express the relief that came, to hear from you. I heard of the bombing and ran straight back home to hang over the radio. How sick I felt, listening, not knowing if you were safe._

_I know that you won't, but I have to insist yet again that you come to Spain. It's so dangerous there. Haven't you done enough? So many you've helped. So many. You've done enough. Please, flee. Come to Spain, where I can watch over you._

_It was awful enough, knowing you were having to exhaust yourself treating the wounded, but to see now how the bombs come so close to you—I can't stand it! I can't sleep anymore, and dread when I do, because my dreams are nightmares now. Every night, seeing the absolute worst in my head. It's driving me mad. You keep saying to me how much you hold on to my optimism, and I wish that I could, too, but I can't seem to find it anymore._

_I feel defeated, and frightened._

_Having you so far away and not knowing how you are every time I wake up, it's more horrible than I could ever hope to describe. Still, I try. For you. I can do nothing else from here but offer my words. I try to hold myself up and be everything that you remember, but I falter so frequently._

_Never lose hope. Never give up. This war will end. It must. Please, hold on until then._

_Consider Spain. Think it over. For my sake._

_A._

_**December 24, 1941** _

_Merry Christmas, darling. How many more times shall we have to greet each other this way? I so desire to sit together beside a tree and say those words in person. I'm alone again for Christmas. Gilbert is gone. I spent the day with the other nurses, finishing up the common room for the patients. We have no cheer left, but we pretend, for them._

_It's harder to fake each day._

_I'm afraid now, more than ever before, with the Americans joining the war. How much pressure can we take? I don't care if we win or lose—I just want Gilbert to come home. Them joining will only delay things, I fear._

_I hope you're doing well. I like so much to lie down on the loveseat on my break and think of you. I envision you on the lake you wrote about. On a boat with friends, drinking and laughing. It makes me happy. I would have you happy, always. Not fretting over this war. I do that enough for the both of us._

_Please keep trying. For my sake. However you may falter, know that in my mind and memory you're quite perfect._

_L._

_**February 18, 1942** _

_Dearest_

_I try so hard to obey you, and to keep my head up. Smiling is somehow the hardest thing I must do these days. Who knew something so simple could be so difficult? I've been sitting here for days over this letter, thinking of what to write. What can I write? What can I say to you?_

_I feel_ _ashamed_ _._

_Safe here at home, in my neutral country, as you struggle to keep dying men alive for just a few more moments. What could I ever say to you? I want so badly to lie to you, to tell you that I really am out on that lake with friends, that I am laughing and happy. But I can't. Every time I try, my hand stops working. As if it knows in some way that I'm being deceptive. I feel stupid. How can what I say even matter anymore, as things fall ever more apart? Every word I write makes me feel a fool._

_I'm sorry._

_Even in lying I'm a failure._

_I can't lie to you and pretend to be happy, because it makes me feel ill. How can I write such a thing, while I see you up in my mind, distraught and exhausted and in danger?_

_Sometimes, I hate myself for being safe._

_I don't know what to do._

_A._

_**April 6, 1942** _

_Oh, dear, how I wish I could make you understand that you lying to me about being happy would be the best possible thing for me. I would rather you sit there and write me some grand yarn than be honest. I know you're safe, and that's wonderful, but to imagine you happy would be remarkable. It would truly give me something to think about, when I'm scrubbing my clothes free of blood._

_Anything._

_It's harder every day to distract myself._

_I lost a man yesterday. He wasn't the first of course, nor will he be the last. I don't know why he stuck with me so. He had been here for weeks. He developed an infection, and no matter how hard we tried, nothing worked. I talked to him every day, and he always asked me if he was going to die. Like you did, and as so many do. I always told him 'no'. He believed me. I held his hand yesterday, and told him he wasn't going to die, even as he was, right there before me. And even then, fading as he was, he believed me still. I told him he was just going to sleep, and he believed me._

_I'm a liar._

_L._

_**June 26, 1942** _

_Darling_

_I've been trying to go out in town every day, to keep myself occupied. I try to think that if I walk around long enough, something interesting will happen and maybe I really will find myself on some adventure, something worth writing to you about. Something to make you smile. Something real, so that I won't have to fumble a lie. I try to go about life as I did before, speaking to everyone and sitting in cafes and bars. Making friends. It's harder than it was before, because I can't gather up enough willpower to start conversations. I just don't feel like it._

_For you, I go out into the sunlight, when all I really want to do is lie on my couch and despair._

_I'd give anything in the world to bring you here._

_The men in town are always talking about the war, and I sit there in the corner and listen, and with every word they say I can only see you there, soaked in blood._

_Makes me sick._

_I took the guitar up yesterday and played, for the first time in so long. I closed my eyes and pretended I was back there with you, sitting in that room with that soldier. I sat there and played for hours, until my hands were sore, because I didn't want to open my eyes, knowing I would be back home and you would be somewhere else. I didn't think love could hurt this much. How much time we've lost, and for no good reason._

_When it rains now, I just go to sleep._

_A._

_**August 28, 1942** _

_The RAF came again today. The bombing gets worse every time. This time, the damage is great. From the window I can see the orange on the horizon as the south part of the city burns. The hospital shook all throughout the bombing. I watched the dust falling from the ceiling as we ordered the patients that were well enough to walk outside, to make for the distant bunker. I was terrified the hospital would collapse down upon us. We ran to get the others out, but there were so many in bed, too many, and the bombing was long finished before we were._

_I realized today how helpless we are, should we ever truly get bombed. We sit now and try to remap the hospital. We're moving all immobile patients to the bottom floor so we can get them out faster. I think we do it only to comfort ourselves. Should we ever, god forbid, get bombed, I fear our efforts will all be in vain. If the hospital collapses—I can't fathom it. We're not prepared for this. We're so overcrowded. Men everywhere, even out in the halls. The loss of life would be disastrous in the event of true damage._

_I haven't been home in months, nor have any of my colleagues. We've become each others' family. My dear friend writes to that Italian soldier, as I do you, and I can see her holding his letters as tightly as I hold yours. We feel so alone here, and overwhelmed. Writing takes our mind off of it, if only for a while._

_Too much for any one person._

_Gilbert writes to me when he can, but that's far less often than I would like. I can only read your letters in the hall when I find a few free minutes. They spur me on._

_I am saddened that you no longer find comfort in the rain, for I now have the opposite sentiment. I can look at it now, and I remember, as you once said, that there's an entire world out there, and not all of it is people dying._

_I have to believe that._

_L._

_**November 13, 1942** _

_Dear_

_How are you now? I stand before the office every day and resist the urge to sign myself over. I desperately want to, but I know you would be disappointed in me. I admit I still yet don't understand the rational behind the decision to remain neutral. So much Italy and Germany have assisted Franco—would that he returned the favor. Volunteers can only do so much. I would rather he just declared war._

_No matter!_

_I'll see you soon, I know. I wish yet that you would leave Germany and come here to Spain, where I know for certain you'll be safe. You must be so sick of hearing me say that, but I'll continue to do so until you're here. I dread picking up the paper every day or turning on the radio. I don't sleep so well anymore. I stare up at the ceiling and think of you, how frightened and tired you must be. I have nightmares of you and your fellow nurses, huddled up in the halls as bombs fall. I can't stand it._

_I can say that I hate the rain. It reminds me of you, now, and the loneliness is unbearable. How unfair the world is. Please consider Spain, darling. You would love it. We can go down to the beach on the weekends. Perhaps you can even get a bit of a tan. Instead of the rain I now detest, we can watch the sea. You'd like that, I know. I used to cause such a ruckus every time my parents took me to the sea. I would chase the gulls all over, jumping over sunbathers as I went. I can't wait to see what sort of trouble I can get into with you. I'll turn you into a rule-breaker, yet._

_I have to convince myself it will be. I will never stop asking you to come, even if I already know the answer. All I can do is hope and pretend._

_Whatever happens, however bad it gets, however scared you may be, remember that I'm here, waiting for you. I think of you always._

_Be safe._

_A._

_**December 25, 1942** _

_Merry Christmas, yet again. How are you holding up? I received a letter from Gilbert the other day, so needless to say I'm quite elated, despite the chaos all around me. The hospital fills up a little more each day._

_One more missed Christmas in Spain..._

_I try to envision it in my head, but all I ever come up with is this odd sort of mixture of my Christmas markets with your palm trees. A Christmas market on a sunny beach! That makes me smile, in spite of it all. The thought of you now as a grown man, running yet down the beach to chase the seagulls._

_I try to make my friend smile by asking her when her wedding shall be. She just teases me, and asks if I'm attempting to procure my spot in the ceremony. Which, of course, I am._

_...I just wish we could all be there together._

_I miss seeing people being happy._

_L._

_**March 3, 1943** _

_Dear A._

_Your countrymen are quite the talk of the town these days!_

_We speak only nowadays of the valiant battle of Krasny Bor. I imagine an entire division just like you, holding back the whole of the Red Army in its might. We're so proud to have been able to treat your men, you can't imagine. We brag to all of the new patients about how we treated the brave Spanish Nationalists. It's given us something to distract ourselves with._

_I can't believe how long it's been since we've seen each other, and now Gilbert has been away for two years. I feel stuck in some rut that I can't pull myself out of. I simply can't believe sometimes how much war has truly cost me. Will it never stop? One after another, endless, ceaseless. Is there no end to it? Has mankind gone entirely mad?_

_When I meet people like you, I begin to think the best of the world. I start feeling hope. And then war comes once more, and the people I love are in danger yet again._

_At least this time, I have a comfort in your safety._

_I wish so much to join you on that beach._

_L._

_**June 19, 1943** _

_Dearest_

_How are you holding up?_

_I've finally had my first bit of excitement._

_I found a stray kitten a few weeks ago. I'm so lonely, so I scooped her up and brought her home with me. It sounds silly perhaps, but she reminds me so much of you. She's white and grey, and has a long, sharp face, with blue eyes. And she is very prissy. She won't eat half of what I give her, and when she is displeased with me, she sits upon the windowsill and gives me this look that only makes me think of you. I was afraid it was some spirit you sent out to keep an eye on me. She's always sitting there and silently judging me. Her meow is very high-pitched, and very clipped, as if she is chastising me every time she opens her mouth. Ahh...familiarity!_

_It's uncanny._

_I've named her Athena, since she reminds me so of you. Beautiful and stern and unafraid. Your purrfect twin, if you'll forgive me!_

_Still..._

_As happy as I am to have company, it never makes that ache go away. She rests atop my chest when I lie down, and I stare out of the window and watch the sky. On a clear day, it's almost like looking into your eyes once more._

_Often, I look around and realize how truly helpless I am. Caught up in the whim of the world, unable to protect those I love and to change things. I'm a grown man, and yet I feel like such a child now, lost in the woods. Looking always for you, and finding only more trees._

_It's strange. It's been so long now that we've seen each other, but I can still perfectly recall the scent of your hair._

_Hold on._

_A._

_**August 4, 1943** _

_Sweetheart_

_How you flatter me! I suppose this is very fitting, isn't it, since Gilbert has so frequently called me 'catty'. Good to know someone is there to keep you in line, and better still to know you hold me in such a divine light._

_But, that's not strange at all, for I can perfectly recall the feel of your hands. I think memories such as those last for eternity, when we rely so heavily upon them for comfort. Sometimes, when Gilbert was gone away, I would walk down the street and catch a scent, and it would remind me so strongly of Gilbert that I could swear he was right beside of me._

_You're no different. So many things here remind me of you. Walking along, and something will catch my eye, and it's as if you're still here. I feel that I'll turn the next corner and there you'll be._

_I try to remember the scent of you, but all I can smell is blood and disinfectant. Rather dampens the mood, I fear._

_Send your feline my love._

_L._

_**October 28, 1943** _

_Darling_

_Sent my feline your love. She slapped me with her paw and jumped away._

_As I said, she does remind me so of you._

_The Blue Division has come home. The men that have returned here are treated as heroes, rightfully so, and I've been buying my fair share of drinks for them. I sit with them in the bars with the crowd and listen to their stories. They're so proud to have served with the Germans. They can't ever speak highly enough of them. They say that they wonder if the Germans are really even human! They seem to imagine that they're rather a sort of machine, because they're never afraid and always so calm. I suppose, having met you, I can very much believe that._

_How I admire your resolve and determination. You never give up, however hard it is. I wish I could be like that. I'd trade my so called 'optimism' in a blink to have just a little bit of what you have._

_How brave you are._

_I'm proud of you, and I detest that I can't brag about you to everyone in earshot._

_It's raining frequently now, and I don't go out._

_A._

_**December 25, 1943** _

_Dearest_

_Another year, another Merry Christmas through a letter. It's sad, isn't it?_

_Bombs are so frequent now. We didn't set up a tree or any decorations at all this year. The common room has just turned into another ward, and there's no spare room. We try to keep spirits high, and managed to bake a few cakes and cookies. So hard to find ingredients nowadays. I can only imagine your face, if you saw the food we have to serve now. All the same, the men were happy._

_Every time I think I've exhausted all possible emotion, something comes along. Three men died, two overnight and one a few hours prior to me writing this letter. I'm hidden now in the back of the kitchen. I didn't come here to write this letter; I came here to cry, but somehow here I am scribbling this quickly down._

_I miss you so much. I'm tired of feeling this way._

_I think I made a mistake in choosing this path. Often now, I think of just disobeying Gilbert at last and enlisting in the army. At least then I won't feel so helpless. I can do something useful. I can be like Gilbert and try to protect from afar, to prevent these men coming in._

_Gilbert has gone now to Berlin to fight off the RAF there, and my nausea is constant._

_I can't breathe._

_I feel lost._

_L._

_**February 11, 1944** _

_Dear L._

_Every time you write me with such sadness, I tell myself that the next time it happens, I'll have something profound to say, something charming, something bright, something that will for sure lift you up, that will lighten that load, that will make you smile and give you strength._

_And then the next time comes, and I fall flat._

_All words flee, and I just sit here above blank paper and stare._

_'I can do something useful.'_

_How could you say that? How is it possible that you don't realize how important what you do is? Men like me—without people like you, we'd be dead. You don't have to be on the frontlines to make a difference. How many lives have you saved? There are so few of you, and so many injured. You leaving to fight would be needless, and hurt so many more than it would help. I'm sure you'd be as brave in war as in everything else, but people need you._

_You save lives. Why isn't that enough? What more do you want? Do you want to save the world entire, single-handedly? How much do you really think one man can do in a battle, where thousands of men shoot at each other? I've been there. I can assure you, darling, that one man makes a far greater difference in a hospital than he does on the battlefield. You think you feel helpless now? Wait until you have that rifle in your hands, and people are crying and screaming all around, and you can't help a single one of them, because you're being shot at, too. You'll realize quickly how useless you really are, when you're just a little number, lost in the statistics._

_Don't you dare enlist. The men in that hospital need you. It's not as if you're a civilian, hiding from bombs and avoiding the fight. You do more than your part, and don't ever feel that you don't do enough. I can't comprehend how saving people isn't good enough for you._

_I'm so angry with you, hearing you say that._

_Never speak like that again. You hear? I won't stand for that, I won't._

_A._

_**March 2, 1944** _

_My dearest A._

_I'm sorry._

_I just lose all hope at times. More often than I would like. I can no longer see the purpose in what I do, when so many suffer. It all seems so pointless. I didn't mean to upset you._

_The bombs seem endless now. I can't remember the last time I've slept. The hospital is packed. There are beds in the halls, in every spare room, lined up side by side. Our capacity is 300 men—we have nearly 1000. So many injured, and so few of us to care for them. We live in the hospital these days, sleeping where we can and waiting for more bombs. I hate those damned sirens. All I ever hear now. We can't stop working, even when they go off. Nothing to do but carry on tending the wounded and waiting to see if the planes will come. I fear we've almost become desensitized—we've started making a game of it, placing bets on whether or not the bombs will fall. How far we've sunk._

_I miss you._

_I miss your cheerfulness and optimism. I have none left, and need you now more than ever. I fear I'm falling apart. Between the bombs and the patients and fearing so for Gilbert, I feel as if I've become a wreck. I have to run into the bathroom now to cry, because I can't let the patients see. At other times I will sneak into the kitchen, only to find several of my colleagues there doing the same. How we bond these days, crying together in shadows._

_Every day is worse. I've become so used to the smell of blood that I don't even notice it anymore. I'm covered in it, constantly. This is the third time I've written this same letter to you; the other two became too stained, and I didn't want to frighten you. There's no time to ever wash it off, as we move endlessly from room to room. You wouldn't recognize this place, if you saw it now. It's a madhouse. Men are screaming in pain all around. We have nothing left. We're so short on supplies._

_I have to watch men in awful agony and shake my head when they cry and beg me for medicine, because I simply have nothing to give them. So many shrapnel injuries coming in, and without the proper supplies, it's become simpler for the doctors now just to amputate what they can't easily save. I stand here in the middle of utter chaos, feeling as if the walls are closing in all around me._

_I can't even lie anymore._

_A crying man asked me several days ago if he was going to die, and I could only take his hand and nod. I couldn't even be bothered to lie, because I just couldn't even pretend for that one moment. God, that look on his face. I hate myself for that._

_A siren is going off right now._

_I must get back to work. Please keep writing me and telling me your silly stories. Tell me what your obnoxious cat is doing. My little doppelgänger, as it is. Tell me about the lake, the beach. It's all I have to look forward to. I can pretend I'm with you on the beaches of Spain rather than watching men in pain die. I think of Gilbert so much that it makes me sick, the awful dreams I have of him getting shot down, and I read your letters to take my mind off of it. You've kept me going, more than you can ever know._

_I hope to see you soon, when the war finally ends. I sense our end will not be victorious, but I care not, as long as it ends. Too much death, and so senseless._

_I hope your smile hasn't changed._

_God. I'm so tired. I fell asleep standing up not long ago, taking a temperature. I fear I won't weather this storm much longer._

_I only wish I could see you one last time._

_L._

_P.S. : I know we've avoided saying it, but after today I just can't delay it any longer. So, I will say it now. I love you. If I die, always know that. My times with you were some of my happiest. I am grateful to you for that, more than you can ever hope to understand. You did so much for me. I don't think I would have made it this far with my sanity if not for you. I hope you'll always be happy, come what may. How remarkable you are, to make such a grand impact in such a short amount of time. I feel so lucky to have crossed paths with you._

_Thank you, for everything. Antonio— Godspeed._

_**March 20, 1944** _

_Sweetheart_

_I can never express the terror I felt receiving your letter, to see the envelope stained with blood as it was. Even knowing it wasn't yours, I can find no words._

_How dare you!_

_Stop it._

_Don't you dare even attempt to say a goodbye. I won't accept it, I won't. Don't speak to me as if it will be the last time. No doors are closing. The war will be over soon. It has to be. It's gone on for far too long, it must end soon. You hang on until then. You won't fall to it. I forbid it! Never again say that to me. Never. I don't ever want to open up another letter that makes me feel the way that one did._

_Please._

_I'm too sick, in both heart and stomach, right now to be furious with you. I can't even breathe, let alone be angry. To read those words..._

_You're the strongest person I've ever met. You can't give up now. Don't say goodbye. It's not over. It's not. You're far too brave, and I know you'll hang on, whatever happens. Sometimes, I think not even a bomb could take you down._

_Those men are counting on you. You can't fail them. Until the very end, they need you._

_And so do I._

_The only godspeed I'll accept from you is you speeding into my arms at the war's end. You're not allowed to say goodbye until then._

_It will be over soon._

_A._

_**May 14, 1944** _

_Darling_

_I haven't heard from you. I know you're overwhelmed, but god, please just let me know that you're well. That's all I ask. Just tell me that you're alright. Please write me, even if only a word. Even an empty envelope I would accept. Anything at all._

_I can't even think straight, waiting for your letter. I check the post every day. You're so busy, I understand, I do, but I'm going crazy here, not knowing. Please, spare me just one second and send an empty envelope. I'm begging._

_A._

_**June 5, 1944** _

_Please, please, please write me. Please. I don't even know if these letters reach you anymore, if you're still there. But please write me. Where are you? Are you well? Have you evacuated? Please, wherever you are, whenever you can, please write me. I wait for you, every day. I feel as if I'm losing my mind, sitting here so helpless, waiting for your letters._

_I won't stop writing, I promise. No matter what, I won't leave you alone. I just want you to be alright._

_A._

_**July 27, 1944** _

_An old schoolmate of mine was married today. I was invited. I left halfway through the ceremony, because I started thinking of you and it was making me sick. As soon as I made it home, I threw up, and then I sat down and cried. How helpless I feel, awaiting your letter. Not knowing if you're safe._

_Please write._

_A._

_**September 28, 1944** _

_I got drunk last night and went down to the lake. No matter how many times I looked over, you weren't there. I heard people laughing out on a boat, and I left. I can't stand seeing other people happy now. It's not fair. Don't they know how hurt other people are? You're the best person I ever met; the world should be miserable if you're missing._

_A._

_**October 25, 1944** _

_Oh—please. Please don't let that last letter of yours be the final one. I can't stand it. Why did you say goodbye before it was time? You shouldn't have written that. If you hadn't written that, everything would have been alright. It's your fault, for saying it. Everything would have been alright if you hadn't said that. This is all your fault._

_A._

_P. S. : I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say it was your fault. I'm drunk. I didn't mean that. Please don't be angry. Please write._

_**November 18, 1944** _

_Where are you?_

_Please. I'll say whatever you want me to. I'll lie. I'll tell you anything you want to hear, if you just write me. I'll tell you about how much fun I'm having, how nice the lake is, how pretty the beach is, the grand adventures Athena and I go on. I'll say anything you want. Just write me, and tell me what you want me to say, and I'll say it._

_A._

_**December 25, 1944** _

_Merry Christmas, darling, wherever you are. Whatever is happening, however scared you are, please remember that I'm here waiting for you. I haven't given up. I haven't yet lost hope. I think of you always. Please don't feel so alone._

_I sat all day here at the table, and reread every letter of yours. I'm not proud to say that I'm drunk again. It makes it easier. I cry just as much, but it doesn't feel so bad when I'm drunk. All I can do is wait, and I hate it. I'm far too impatient for that, and you know it. Why do you torment me like this? Is it so hard, just to write me?_

_The cat is angry with me for drinking. She is glaring at me now. How I wish it were you._

_A._

_**January 2, 1945** _

_Oh, god! Would that I could leave and come search for you. I sit over the radio and listen to the reports, and knowing that Nürnberg is on fire and I'm helpless to assist you—I can't stand it. The bombing goes on even as I write this. I wish I knew where you were. I wish I knew if you're safe. I can't stand the thought of it, of you and the others in the hospital trying to save lives even as the bombs fall all around you. I can barely see to write this at all. I've been crying all day. I regret to say that it's not a foreign sensation these days._

_I only dream now of fire. In my head I can see that beautiful city ablaze, and yet for it all even in my dreams I never see you there. Even in sleep you're lost to me._

_I can't stand this constant silence._

_I bought a television the other day. It's remarkable, but I use it only to watch the news. I watch day and night, and always I'm searching for your face. I hope that one day I'll catch a glimpse of you in some crowd, and then I'll know that you're alive._

_Where are you?_

_A._

_**March 20, 1945** _

_It's been an entire year now since I last received a letter from you._

_It feels like twenty._

_A._

_**April 20, 1945** _

_I heard today that the Americans have taken Nürnberg and are occupying. I pray you're safe. I hope you're still strong. How much work you must have, tending to the wounded. I tell myself every day that you simply haven't written back because you don't have time. You're so overworked; who has time to write a letter?_

_Pretending is easier for me._

_The phone rang today. I ran so quickly to it that I fell. That old injury wants to come haunt me now. And for naught—when I picked up the phone, it wasn't you, of course. Just an old comrade from my war days. I couldn't speak. It wasn't you, and so I hung up. Had I spoken, I fear I would have lost composure._

_I haven't seen you yet on the television in the ruins._

_I don't know now what's worse : to find you and get the worst possible outcome, or to let you remain missing?_

_I'm so sick of crying._

_A._

_**May 8, 1945** _

_Darling_

_The war in Europe is over. I sat by the radio all morning. I watched everything unfold on that new television afterwards. How astounding, to see it all end like that after so long. I still watch the news, and I still find myself only looking in the background, hoping to see you somewhere. I haven't yet. But I still write all the same. I haven't yet lost hope. I'm still waiting. I won't ever stop writing until I find you, in one form or another. I promise._

_Europe rejoices. The church is packed, as people thank god for ending the war at last. The priests are offering prayers to those missing. I just stood outside, and didn't go in. I couldn't bring myself to light a candle for you, because I fear doing so would somehow jinx you, if you're still out there. I didn't go in. No room, anyhow, should I have wanted to. I haven't been to church in months. Why bother? I would be forced to sit inside the confessional and admit that I would let Europe burn once more if only you would return. How grand of a sin is that, I wonder?_

_I'm sitting here again at my kitchen table, alone and drunk, as my cat looks on in disappointment._

_Isn't life funny?_

_A._

_**June 10, 1945** _

_I read in the paper today that the Americans took over your hospital and removed all the German patients. I hope to god they treated you well during the relocation. You're still there, aren't you? You must be somewhere. I pretend even now that you're still caring for men within those walls. It's easiest for me, I suppose, to keep pretending. I was always a fool, but you know that._

_A._

_**July 21, 1945** _

_I miss you so much. I couldn't sleep. I picked up the phone and called an acquaintance. He has a bit of power in the regime. I begged him to help me search for records of you. Anything. Anywhere. I'm so desperate. He says he'll do what he can. In the meanwhile, I spend my days in the library, poring over every newspaper article I can get my hands on. Still haven't seen your face._

_A._

_**August 13, 1945** _

_I received the first bit of information, and I regret more than I can express that it was to find out about your brother. I don't know what to say. Nothing I could ever write would help to take that pain away. I could try to say that he became the grand war hero he always wanted to be, for what could ever be more glorious than being shot down by Americans above French soil? Even as I write it, I feel stupid. He wasn't a war hero to you, after all. He was your big brother, and how it ended doesn't matter at all to you. I went to the church for the first time in so long, and lit a candle for him. It does nothing, I know, but it momentarily kept me from drinking._

_I haven't given up hope. I haven't. But sometimes, I'm afraid. Sometimes I'm more afraid of thinking I will find you, and that maybe it won't be the outcome I have rested all my hopes on._

_I feel so damn stupid. Pretending that there really is a bigger world out there, and not everything is people dying. I'm sorry that I ever made you believe that. I was a fool. That's all the world is, death. Nothing more. No one cares about anyone but themselves. Every day, I find less and less to like about the world._

_I hate the rain._

_**September 2, 1945** _

_Japan surrendered today. The great war is finally finished, the world over. And even though it was stupid, I still sat there and watched the signing ceremony and looked for you in the background. I don't know what else to do. I can't find you. The world is so happy to have peace again; I feel instead as if I just can't breathe._

_I still wait._

_Was there ever a man more stupid than me? I think not._

_**November 3, 1945** _

_My father died yesterday. I hadn't seen him in years, regretfully. I never made time, as he lives on the opposite end of the country. I always put it off, and now it's too late. I'll go this weekend to see my mother. I have so much suddenly thrust upon me. With his death, I inherit my father's business. I'm the only child, so I must step up and perform my duty, but god...  
_

_I just want to sleep. I don't want to take up the reigns. I don't want to have any responsibilities now, because I can't even pick myself up in my own home, let alone stand at the helm of a business. I'm so afraid that I'll ruin it, crash it, that I'll be the last link. I'm such a wreck. Oh, how my mother will look at me when she sees me at last! I dread so breaking her heart. She'll be so disappointed in me._

_I think the cat pities me now. She sleeps on my chest when I'm lying on the couch crying. How pathetic I've become, that even this stern cat will lend me sympathy._

_I never go to the lake anymore._

_**December 25, 1945** _

_Merry Christmas. It's been raining all day._

_I feel tired._

_**January 26, 1946** _

_I just—_

_**February 8, 1946** _

_I need to move out to take over my father's business, I know. My mother waits for me. I keep putting it off, as I put it off all these years. I don't want to go; what if you come? This is the only address you'll have. If I leave, what if you come and I'm not here? I can't bear the thought. I could never leave you behind._

_I won't move._

_If I'm forced, perhaps I can leave a note upon the door with my new address. No. It would eventually blow away, wouldn't it, or succumb to the rain. So. I won't move._

_I don't answer the phone anymore. I can't stand getting my hopes up only to have them dashed. I've become too fearful of getting my answer now. So long I begged my friend to help me find you, and now I seek to avoid hearing from him at all. I feel trapped. No side seems worthwhile. I refuse to say it aloud, but nonetheless I feel myself steadily losing hope. It's my fault; I know better than to keep expecting you, but I do so all the same. It's been nearly two years since you fell off the face of the Earth. I know better. And—_

_Someone is knocking at the door. I know better, but I must answer anyway._

_It's never you—_

* * *

Knocking.

At the sound of it, the cat had run and hid herself. Antonio wished he could do the same.

Hated it now as much as hearing the phone ringing, and Antonio threw the pen furiously across the room as he stood up, stumbling a bit as his leg ached. Was so damn tired, so spent, so exhausted and above all else so _angry_.

Didn't want to talk to anyone, didn't want to interact with the outside world. Seemed so unfair, so pointless. The world had been destroyed, nothing good left upon it. What even mattered?

As he stalked angrily to the door, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror in passing.

Hardly recognized himself anymore.

Had always been so vain, but had let himself fall apart lately. His hair was a mess, not combed and far too long. Hadn't shaved in a good two weeks. Circles under his eyes, dark as could be, from lack of sleep. Pale and lackluster. Hadn't seen the sun in weeks. Had lost some weight, a bit of muscle. Just looked so rundown and haggard, because that was how he felt. Had just woken up one morning, everything had been too much, and he had stopped caring. Had been a steady decline with every day of silence, with every blow that came from checking the post only to find it empty, and one day it had been too much.

He looked his age now, for the first time.

Didn't care about anything, because none of it was fair. Other men had started this war, and they suffered for it.

He tried so hard living in the past, tried to pretend that he was still in those days of hospitalization, where Ludwig was smiling and Antonio was happy, where the world had been bright and people had been in love.

But he wasn't, and no matter how much he pretended, the crushing silence always reminded him.

In some godawful way, he actually just wished that he had been informed long ago that Ludwig was dead, because not knowing was so painful, so unbearable. Drowning in the sea, with no land in sight. Maybe he could have handled it all better if he had had a definitive answer, even if that answer wasn't one he wanted. Couldn't bear being caught in this limbo, searching relentlessly for something he just couldn't find. Wondering how Ludwig was, if he were alive, how scared he was, how hurt, how alone.

Wondering.

It was exhausting, all of that _wondering_.

Hurt too much.

Now here he was again, staring at this door, knowing that the other side held only another blank page. Anther dead-end. He grabbed the handle, took a deep breath, and tried to steady himself for yet another disappointment. Should have been used to it, but it hurt every time.

He ripped open the door, and barked, "What do you want?"

A soft inhale from the unwelcome guest.

Antonio opened his mouth to fuss more, and stopped instantly short, voice and breath halting in his throat.

A moment of confusion. Incomprehension.

Oh, _god_ —! Had he lost it at last? Had he finally snapped? So long he had felt it coming. Had he just slipped over the edge of the cliff into complete madness? Had to have, the only explanation, because he was so certain it was Ludwig there staring back at him. Was so sure of it, and that couldn't be right, so he had to have finally succumbed to insanity.

One day too many, and had cracked.

Looked like Ludwig, alright, if only the exhausted shell of him. So similar, and yet so different. Same shade of hair, same eyes, same height. Same hands.

But, oh god, if that was really Ludwig, then seeing him like that was going to break Antonio's heart, provided he was real.

His skin was so pallid, ashy, his hair was dull, the circles under his eyes hung so low they reached his cheeks, his clothes were torn and dirty, he hadn't shaven in about as long as Antonio, and, above all else, he was so skinny. Oh, _damn_ , looked so _bad_ , was a few weeks away from being considered emaciated, and his cheeks cast shadows over his face, eyes so tired and heavy.

Couldn't stop staring at him, utterly aghast.

Had never even in his nightmares ever thought he would see Ludwig like that. So gaunt and frail. To have known him as he once was made it so much more abhorrent. Felt as if he had been physically wounded in some way, seeing Ludwig in such a manner, as if the deepest part of Antonio had been offended and assaulted.

Those pale eyes, the only thing that really looked the same, if only in shade, suddenly raked him up and down. An exhale, and a swallow.

"It really is you. I almost didn't recognize you."

Likewise.

But that voice—

It was the sound of that voice that woke up Antonio up, that voice he knew so well, that voice that had been in his ear every day for months on end, bringing him back from the brink of death. Could never in a million years have forgotten one single note or tone of that voice, and knew for certain that he was looking at Ludwig.

What had happened to him?

He came out of his stupor, lunged forward so fast it made him dizzy, and enveloped Ludwig in an embrace so tight it made Ludwig wince.

Would have held him there forever, had something not dampened the mood. The _feel_ of Ludwig was enough to crush Antonio's spirits. Felt so bad touching him at all, skinny as he was. Could only feel bone, it seemed, and was afraid to hurt him by merely touching him. Ludwig was surely uncomfortable in that tight embrace, and Antonio pulled back, guiltily.

Was fairly certain that he was in shock, and that was why he wasn't crying or falling into hysterics. Just felt dazed and dumbfounded. It really truly was like seeing a ghost, because he had known in his heart that Ludwig was dead but had just refused to admit it. Seeing him alive was overwhelming.

He grabbed Ludwig's arm in that daze and dragged him inside, and realized with a pang that his hand could almost enclose the circle around that arm.

They made it to the couch, Antonio pushed Ludwig down, and then he was embracing him again, this time shoving Ludwig's face down into his chest and holding him there so firmly that Ludwig couldn't move had he wanted to. But he didn't want to, apparently, because he didn't twitch at all, even as Antonio nearly suffocated him there.

They fell into a silent trance, and just sat there.

Antonio couldn't say for sure if this _real_. Had either lost his mind or was dreaming. A very vivid dream, yeah, but a dream nonetheless. Still felt so far away and distant.

Maybe he had a fever again.

It was hours before Antonio could let go of Ludwig and pull back enough to let him breathe. Ludwig lifted his head, their eyes met, and Antonio reached out to grab Ludwig by the shoulders and give him a gentle shake, mindful of not gripping too hard.

"Where did you _go_? I was so— Why? I waited, every day."

"I'm sorry," was the immediate rumble, as Ludwig struggled to hold his gaze. "I'm sorry. I never wanted that to happen. Forgive me."

"What happened?"

Ludwig turned his head, looking at the wall to the side as Antonio held him there. Took him a long while to actually speak up again. His voice was so rough. As sad as his face.

Lost.

"After the last letter I wrote you...I don't know. I couldn't do it. I knew it would make you and Gilbert so angry, but I enlisted in the army as a medic. I just wanted to _help_. I was sent out immediately. Always moving. I wound up a few months later in Aachen. We were captured by the Americans. They set me to work in the camp as a medic. I wrote you letters when I was able, but could never send them. They released us a month ago. I went home—well, what was left of it. It was burnt down, and I found out—"

Ludwig trailed off then, clamping his jaw and averting his eyes, and Antonio did too because he knew that Ludwig meant to say, 'I found out about my brother.'

Too painful to say.

A long, awful minute of Ludwig swallowing and blinking far too quickly, regaining his composure and his strength, and his voice was trembling and thick when he spoke again.

"I didn't know what to do. Everything was in ruins. I had no one left. The Americans are occupying, and I know that it's not their fault, but I couldn't bear to be there under _them_ , not _them_ , when they were the ones who shot Gilbert down—" A strangled, high-pitched noise, as Ludwig fought to control his breathing. Another struggle for composure. "I could only think to come here. It took me a little while. I didn't know if you would even still be here. What had become of you. It was all I could think of. Forgive me for just showing up. I didn't know what else to do. I didn't want to be alone. It's been so long, so I understand if things have changed. You need only tell me. For all you knew, I've been dead for two years, so if you've moved on, I—"

Antonio didn't let him finish that statement, yanking Ludwig in and forcing his face yet again down into Antonio's chest.

Honestly, despite sitting here and listening to Ludwig, Antonio still wasn't entirely certain that this wasn't some cruel dream. Seemed so surreal yet, far too outrageous.

Couldn't really believe it.

Ludwig was alive, and that had knocked the sense out of Antonio.

Ludwig pressed hard into his chest, and Antonio knew that it was to keep himself from crying. The damn cat finally came out of hiding an hour or so later, after Ludwig had been still and quiet and possibly drifting into sleep. She sat there for a moment on the floor before them, and then maybe she knew she was looking at her twin, for she suddenly jumped on top of Ludwig, startling him so much that he jumped upright and she jumped again too, this time to the top of the sofa, bristled to high heaven.

Ludwig and the cat stared at each other, blue on blue, and Antonio couldn't help but smile.

Ludwig settled down long before the cat did, and scoffed, whispering, thickly, "Ah! So this is my replacement?"

"Mm-hm. See the resemblance?"

Ludwig tried to smile, failed miserably, but bravely said, "You were right. It's uncanny."

How long was Ludwig going to deny himself those tears? Kept on fighting it off, holding it back, and it was clearly stressing him.

Ludwig didn't manage to pet his look-alike that instant, as she jumped and fled once more, and instead Antonio stood up and walked into the kitchen to start making dinner. A strange sensation, actually aiming to cook, when he had been surviving on bread and pre-made goods. Barely lifting his hand, as he was these days. Ludwig followed him, saw him looking around, and asked, "Need a hand?"

"Yeah," Antonio said, easily. "Sure do."

Ludwig needed a distraction far more than Antonio needed a hand, and in that they perfectly understood each other.

The kitchen was practically bare, but they scrounged up bread and potatoes, and that was good enough. Felt ever dreamy as they sat at the table together, Antonio having his first company in so, so many years. And the best possible company.

To not be sitting alone at this table, drinking himself into a stupor.

Ludwig ate very swiftly, but politely, and Antonio could see how hard he was trying not to scarf it down in a blink.

That hurt like hell.

Afterwards, in that surreal silence, Ludwig glanced over at him and said, "I'm sorry."

Dumbly, Antonio asked, "For what?"

Ludwig lowered his eyes downward, as the cat came out once more and crept under the table towards Ludwig. Ludwig seemed relieved for an excuse to neglect eye contact, as he murmured, "For not listening to you. You were right. I should have stayed at the hospital. I didn't make a difference at all out there on the field. I should have stayed put. I wanted to help, and I feel as if I only made things worse for those I left behind. I couldn't help anyone out there. They fell so fast, and I couldn't get to them. I dragged one man back as soon as he was shot, and went to grab another. When I returned with the second, the first had been shot again. I couldn't help anyone—"

"Shut _up_ ," Antonio barked, harshly and sternly, because he was angry and agitated and there was no damn point now in reliving that. Why bother? What good did that do anyone? Just too many useless 'what if's.

Ludwig glanced over, looking rather startled at his tone of voice, and rightfully so, as Ludwig had never heard Antonio angry. Had only ever known him in that carefree stage. Would get to know Antonio's 'tough-love' side, as much as he had gotten to know Ludwig's. To be fair, Ludwig's wasn't nearly as harsh as Antonio's version. He had a temper, wasn't perpetually cool like Ludwig, and gave in to his emotions.

Wasn't going to let Ludwig just sit there and wallow in pity.

"It's over. Let it go. You made your choice, and nothing will change that. You can sit there and make yourself sick thinking about it. It won't do any good. Just... Instead of thinking about all the men you lost, think instead about the ones you saved. Like me. So many people are alive because of you. Why can't you ever just think of that, instead? What's the matter with you? I don't understand you sometimes. You can't do as much as you think you can. The world won't change for you, and you can't change it. Just think about the people you helped, and not the ones you didn't. Or don't think about it at all."

A momentary collapse of Ludwig's face, as he refocused his attention on the cat now rubbing on his legs. A rapid blink, and then a gruff, husky scoff.

"Yeah. Guess you're right."

He was.

So why did he feel so _bad_ , and why did Ludwig look so sad?

The world wasn't right at all, still upside down.

Ludwig reached down, quietly, and at last petted his feline sibling. Antonio just watched him, feeling so damn tired, and yet he tried to smile then all the same. Ludwig was alive, and, absurdly perhaps, Antonio was so grateful that he had never lit a candle for Ludwig. Would have ruined it, would have jinxed it, would have inadvertently struck Ludwig down.

Stupid.

Eventually, Ludwig's breathing steadied, and his face relaxed, as the urge to burst into tears was again suppressed.

The next few hours were quiet, but wonderful.

Antonio led Ludwig to the washroom, and as he let the bathtub fill up, he turned to Ludwig and said, "It's my turn to take care of you. I'm so glad. Never thought I'd get to return the favor. I'm your nurse today. So, no troublemaking! I'm always watching you."

That melancholy expression, as Ludwig tried so hard to smile but just couldn't manage.

Nonetheless, Ludwig slipped into the warm bath, rested his head back, and let Antonio do what he wanted. And that was the happiest Antonio had been in so long, in doing such simple things. He washed Ludwig's hair, watching him yet in awe as he drifted into sleep every so often. Meeting Ludwig's eyes later, as Antonio so carefully shaved him. Tousling Ludwig's hair with a towel, rather playfully, as Ludwig struggled to break free for air. Buttoning Ludwig's shirt later (well, his shirt), slowly and deliberately, Ludwig's pale eyes ever upon him.

For a moment, he felt at last as if he were truly back in time in that hospital, as it had once been, just him and Ludwig dancing around each other in that lovesick daze, oblivious to anything but each other. In that wondrous plane where only they existed. Young and happy again, in that brief stint of time before the world had burnt up.

The way Ludwig looked at him had yet to be replicated anywhere else.

Just wished Ludwig could smile as he had that once, in that blazing moment.

He put Ludwig on the couch, looked out at the sun setting, and left Ludwig with the cat to run quickly into town before the shops closed. Bought food, real food, for the first time in so long, and stocked up his kitchen.

Ludwig had a long way to go, before he was up to speed.

He was asleep on the couch when Antonio returned, and, in that silence, Antonio took his own bath and shaved. The first time he had cared enough to bother, the first time in so long that there had been purpose and motivation.

The world came back from the smoke, if only enough to see directly in front of him now. The horizon was yet obscured, but Ludwig was visible.

That night, as they lied in bed and long after Ludwig thought that Antonio was asleep, he finally started crying. Cried for hours and hours, and Antonio didn't move a muscle, to spare his pride.

Would take a long time for that pain to subside. Couldn't fathom how it must have felt for Ludwig, returning to a decimated hometown only to discover the only family he had was dead. Spending so long in captivity, hoping to see someone, only to walk out to silence and blank space. Ashes.

The war was over, but somehow nothing felt better.

Supposed it could really only be one day at a time, and when dawn broke and they sat together, Ludwig looked a bit less exhausted.

He raised his eyes to Antonio, and was the first to speak, whispering, "I can't wait to get into trouble with you."

Elation.

Antonio couldn't help but laugh at that, and assured, "It won't take long! But I didn't think you'd be so eager to start troublemaking already."

Ludwig's smile was half-hearted, but pretty enough, the best he had gotten so far.

"Well... I suppose there's no point in wasting time. I fear we've all done enough of that these long years."

He'd drink to that anytime.

"I'll take you to the beach this weekend," Antonio promised. "The water's cold, but there's plenty of havoc to wreak in town."

Ludwig's smile was more sincere, his face calmer, and Antonio was certain he was in heaven again. Maybe he really had died all those years ago and this was just some drawn-out fever dream on the brink.

Didn't matter.

Ludwig was beautiful all the same, even though they both looked like absolute hell.

A while later, chin in palm, Ludwig murmured, "I'm glad. Your smile hasn't changed after all."

A minor miracle.

Antonio was silent that time, staring across at Ludwig. Didn't always need to say something.

It started raining shortly after, and for the first time in years Antonio didn't hate it.

He stood up, extended his hand, inclined his head to the rain outside the window, and said, "Come walk with me."

This time, Ludwig didn't argue.

The cool water was a good wake up. The sound of the rain on the roofs. The ripples on the puddles. That scent of the earth when the rain first started; his favorite.

Ludwig walked next to him on the streets, chin held high, and they ambled along slowly as everyone else ran for cover. Antonio looked over frequently at Ludwig, and wondered if he had suddenly developed an affinity for rainfall as randomly and abruptly as Antonio once had.

Must have, from that look on his face.

To think he hadn't _seen_ that face in almost seven years. Seemed so dismal, such a waste of time, as Ludwig had said. Years and years gone for no reason.

Well. Life didn't have to be over just because the war was.

Ludwig's pain was profound, but didn't need to be eternal.

Ludwig had written so often that he had missed Antonio's optimism, but had never seemed to realize that what had pushed him forward was his own tenacity, his own stubbornness, his own determination, his own ability to see the purpose in what he was doing. Ludwig had always found purpose in the things he did, but because it wasn't always positive he mistook it for pessimism, and looked for something grander with seemingly more objective. Never realized how much he really did.

Ludwig had found his own way; Antonio knew that he had had nothing to do with it, and Ludwig could do it again, and again, and again, however many times he needed to.

It was Antonio, really, who found himself in awe of that.

Supposed they would just have to meld together cheerfulness and determination and work together through this rut. Could only get better from here. They had hit their lowest. No way to fail.

They carried on as they always did, and Ludwig always wanted to go walking in the rain. After all, it was impossible to tell if someone was crying beneath the downpour.

One day, Ludwig would smile again.

**FIN**


End file.
